


Where the Hart Treads, the Wolf Follows

by Dracoravebird



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gore, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Multi, Oral, Romance, Sex, Vanilla, Violence, consensual roughness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 36,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12291999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoravebird/pseuds/Dracoravebird
Summary: As her father would say, fate was a fickle bitch. How much of a bitch depended on the day. However, between being accused of horrendous crimes and then becoming the Inquisition's poster-child, she supposed that it was alright. She had a few new friends... though one was becoming a bit more than a friend.---------AN: This is almost completely AU/ canon-divergent, and has a HAPPY ENDING!!! If you don't like that, then don't read it. Also, heed tags, warnings, and notes.





	1. Falling Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check out Shiral Lavellan at --> https://www.deviantart.com/dracoravebird/art/Shiral-Lavellan-748805087

No one told her anything.

Honestly, that pissed her off more than anything else. More than the shackles, or fact one of the guards cuffed her with his blade’s pommel for asking. And now, they were gone, and this woman was here, staring down at her like a piece of meat. Dead meat. Her gaze had a fire behind it. A fire that the elf didn’t like having pointed at her.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t just kill you now.” She sneered, prowling around where Shiral sat on the floor. “The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead… except for you.”

“Me? I was hired help! How should I know?!” Shiral snapped in reply.

The brunette grabbed her hand, showing her the mark that currently felt like she had her hand over an open flame. “Explain THIS.”

She grunted as her hand was thrown back down into her lap. “I… can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?!”

“I can’t, as in I don’t know what the fuck it is, and I don’t even know what the hell is going on—”

“You’re lying!” She lashed out, only for the ginger to pull her back by the arm.

“We need her, Cassandra!” The redhead admonished, before slowly turning to their prisoner. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Shiral leered at her. “My mercenary company was hired as security in case a fight broke out. I was on hallway patrol, heard a scuffle, opened a door… and the next thing I know, I’m running from hundred-eyed fuckin spiders as a woman reached out to me… and now I’m here.”

“A woman?”

Cassandra heaved a sigh. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana, I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana nodded, striding up the stairs.

“Hey. Hey wait!” Shiral tried to stand, only for the brunette to push her back down. “Where’re my comrades?! What have you done with them?!”

No answer came. Not from her. Cassandra frowned down at her, hand resting on her sword. “As I said… there were no other survivors.”

Shiral felt her heart sink, chest feeling tight, eyes stinging. Cassandra undid the elf’s shackles, tying her wrists together before dragging her upstairs and out of the chantry. The sky… It was incomprehensible to see. Swirling green and smoke and lightning. Shiral swallowed hard, mind racing, her braids swaying in the bitter cold of the wind while her trench-coat billowed about her legs.

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive Rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” Cassandra explained, turning to face the elf. “It’s not the only such Rift. Just the largest, all caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that…?”

“This one did. And unless we act, the Breach will grow until it swallows the world.”

Though Shiral opened her mouth to remark, her wisecrack was cut off by her own pained cry as liquid heat surged up her arm. It was enough to bring her to her knees, clutching her fist and curling herself around it, tears gathering in her eyes. It was brief, but enough to leave her panting.

“Each time the Breach expands,” Cassandra knelt in front of her, “your mark spreads, and it IS killing you. It may be the key to stopping all of this, but there isn’t much time.”

The elf glared venomously at her. “And what do you expect me to do?! You think I did this?! To myself, and my friends, no less?!”

“Not intentionally. Something… clearly went wrong.”

“Did you even look for them? Or did you assume a bunch of Tal-Vashoth were accomplices?!”

“None were found.”

“For all I know, you executed them.”

Cassandra gave her a long, hard loon.

Shiral stood, and shoved the woman’s hand away when Cassandra attempted to help her up. “Let’s get something straight. I already don’t like you. I’m going there to find my men. Not to help YOU.”

Gritting her teeth, Cassandra took her by the arm, and led her out of Haven. People shouted as they passed. Slurs. Shouts. Accusations and threats of death. Shiral kept her gaze down at the snow, tears burning her face as they froze. The mere idea she had lost them… It hurt more than the threat of execution. She knew powerful people. People whom could stall long enough for her to escape. But none of they were strong enough to revive the dead.

\---------

Shiral stared in shock down at her palm, and then looked at the mage whom had… what? “How did you do that? What did you just do?”

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.” The taller elf stated, nodding to her.

She gazed down at her hand and shook it as she peered over her shoulder at the river. “Well, at least it’s good for something.”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark could be used to seal the Rifts that opened in its wake… and it seems I was correct.”

Cassandra stepped closer. “Meaning it could close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” He looked to Shiral. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

The dwarf adjusted his gloves where he stood nearby, a dead shade at his feet. “Good to know! And here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

Pausing, Shiral gazed at him. Part of her recognized him. Or, his voice, at least.

“Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.”

“Have… Have we met? I swear, you—” 

“Nah. I just have one of those faces.” He shrugged.

She tilted her head, not completely convinced. “You with the Chantry?”

The taller elf snickered where he stood beside her. “Was that a serious question?”

Varric shook his head. “Technically, I’m a prisoner. Just like you.”

“I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine.” Cassandra snapped, stepping forward. “Clearly, that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am! Lucky for you, considering recent events.”

“It’s good to meet you.” Shiral cast their jailor a sidelong glance, wondering if they could take her if they worked together.

“You may reconsider that stance, in time.” The mage pointed out

“I’m sure we’ll be great friends in the valley, Chuckles.” Varric smirked.

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra got in the dwarf’s face. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—”

“Have you seen the valley, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control, anymore. You NEED me.”

She let out a disgusted noise in her throat, moving to the edge of the small, broken fort and getting a feel for their surroundings.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” The mage supplied. “I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means: ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

“You… know about this kind of stuff, then?” Shiral’s attention returned to him.

Cassandra turned halfway to face them. “Like you, Solas is an Apostate.”

“Technically, all mages are Apostates, now, Cassandra. And our friend here is not a mage. I doubt any mage could hold such power.”

“If all of you are done,” Shiral turned away, striding toward the river and hopping a broken wall, “we need to keep moving.”

The followed without hesitation, snow crunching beneath boots and bare feet.

“Have you two seen any Qunari? Tal-Vashoth? Members of the Valo-Kas?”

“None.” Solas answered. “The only people here besides us are the soldiers.”

Shiral cursed under her breath.

\---------

“Shouldn’t closing the Breach be the more pressing issue?”

“You brought this on us in the first place!” Roderick pointed an accusing finger Shiral’s way.

There was a momentary silence before she prowled closer, up to Leliana. “You sound Orlesian.”

“I am.” Leliana nodded.

“Good. Since I’m going to be accused of over a hundred murders and destruction of a Chantry monument, you can contact Lord Esmeral Abernache, and the Valo-Kas, to arrange an arbiter for me.”

Her brows arched a bit in surprise.

Shiral whirled on Roderick. “And you! If you think I’m going to let more people die because you’re too much of a coward to pull your head out of your arse, you can leave!”

“Then,” Cassandra watched the elf carefully, “how do you think we should proceed?”

“Mountain path. It’s faster, and if we get there in time, we can stop the fight before we lose too many troops. Either way, I’m going.” Shiral turned, walking toward the other end of the bridge. “Feel free to join in!”

\---------

The air reeked of death. Of ash, blood, smoke, and ozone. Shiral through a hand up to loosely cover her mouth, keen eyes scanning for any sign of her comrades. She saw none, walking about the ruined remains of the temple apothecary. Her skin prickled as the air around her seemed to thrum with energy. Part of her wondered if she was about to be struck by lightning.

A quiet gasp parted her lips when she felt something warm and metal touch her toes. Gazing down, she saw the glint of something in the ash.

“This is where our soldiers found you.” Cassandra said quietly, watching the elf kneel on the ground. “They say you… stepped out of a rift, and that there was a woman behind you. No one knows who she was.”

In truth, Shiral barely heard her, scooping up the metal thing in her hand, fingers rubbing away the soot. Her eyes watered with fresh tears when she saw what it was, her fingers brushing over the hook-shaped amulet of drakestone, obsidian, and gold.

“Ara?” She murmured, and stood, glancing around. “Arapaima! … Darben?! … Esaam? … Kostlok…?”

With each name shouted, each silent moment between, she lost hope. There came no answer, save for the echo of her own voice, and the crackle of thunder above. Shiral took in a shuddering breath, and sniffed, holding the pendant in her hand a moment before sliding it into the inner pocket of her jacket.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “I’m s—” 

“Fuck you.” Shiral snarled with a glare over her shoulder, and continued to walk forward, toward the heart of the crater.

\---------


	2. Good Talk

Shiral stepped away from the door of the back room. A quick glance around her showed no one was around to stop her. She got halfway across the valley before halting beside the lake, peering back over her shoulder at the Chantry. Fresh flakes of snow fluttered down from the sky, and it was cold enough to burn her ears, but she did not care.

She could leave. She COULD leave… But when her gaze trailed back to the Breach, Shiral pursed her lips. Innocent people would die, if she didn’t do something. On the other hand, if she stayed, it would start all over again. Judgement, and suspicion, and accusations. People would turn on the elves sheltering in the town, putting them all in danger.

A groan welled in the back of her throat, her hands coming up to rub across her face. The boards of the dock creaked a bit under foot, and she seated herself at the end of it. A little jingle from her pocket reminded her of the trinket she carried, her fingers reaching into the pocket to draw Arapaima’s necklace from it. She pouted, fingers rubbing away what gunk and ash remained caked on its surface. His blood, no doubt.

She owed it to them. She owed them the decency of finding whomever or whatever was responsible for their deaths. 

Her mouth slid into a pout when she saw the clasp was broken, her fingers delicately holding the end of the chain. It would be an easy fix, if she could find some materials.

“Hey.”

Shiral jumped slightly, but relaxed when she turned to see Varric standing there, just out of arm’s reach behind her.

“You holdin up alright?”

“Not really.” She muttered, gazing down at the lake.

“Mind if I join you?”

She shook her head, and he sat down beside her.

Varric looked her over before settling on a nickname for her. “I’m sorry about your friends, Angel.”

“… Thanks.” Shiral murmured. “You’re the first to tell me that. People keep walking up and apologizing for threatening to kill me… but to them, it’s like my friends didn’t even exist.”

“Figures.”

“Cassandra sent you out here, didn’t she.”

“No, though I did hear her yelling for you when she realized you weren’t going to show up for the meeting.”

“Why should I? They decided long before I could even say anything in my own defense. I have nothing to say to her or her toadies.”

Varric looked over at her, a mixed expression on his face.

“I never did get to thank you and Hawke for freeing me.”

“Oh. You remembered that?”

“Even though I had to make the trip with a bag over my head, I recognize your voice. I can forget faces now and then, but never voices.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Believe me, Hawke knew. When the Red Jennys reported you had popped up in Orlais with the Valo-Kas… she knew.”

“Did Orsino stay with her?”

“They’re practically joined at the hip.”

“Good. They make a cute couple.” Shiral gave a bittersweet smile, but it was brief. “Is it bad that I want to run away?”

“Nope.”

She gave Varric a dry, doubtful look, lower lip poking out in a pout.

“A person’s first instinct is to save themselves. But I’d say the fact you stopped right here and asked that are both pretty good signs.”

A scoff passed through her teeth. “I still don’t wanna talk to Cassy.”

Varric snorted at the nickname, and took a second to compose himself. “Angel—”

“Or Cullen. I had enough of that self-righteous prick in Kirkwall.”

“You’d be surprised.” His expression softened a bit. “He stood up to Meredith, in the end. It’s part of why his face has a few added embellishments, now.”

“He didn’t stand up to her during the suicides. The rigged Harrowings. The torture, rapes, or murders. He buried his head in the sand. He was complacent.”

“Maybe give him a chance? Things like that change people.”

Shiral sighed, rubbing her brow. She knew she was being bitter because of her loss, both recent and back in that damned tower. It was possible, she supposed, that Meredith and her lackeys kept less-insane Templars from finding out. After a moment, she nodded, braids and bangs swaying about her face. She stood, offering Varric a hand and helping him up. She had decided. And she would stay.

“Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Angel.”

\---------

A shudder quaked through Shiral’s form as she pulled her trench-coat on. It was the only thing she had to remind her of home, the Valo-Kas pin still in the left lapel, and the garment itself was no worse for wear. It felt good, having it back, along with her Ulaks, knives, and other belongings. It still smelled like…

Shiral shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She tried not to focus on the loss as she strode through camp, ignoring the people wanting to come up and seek blessing from the “Herald of Andraste.” Part of her was tempted to tell them all to go fuck themselves, but she couldn’t find the energy. Not today. Instead, she peered across the field, and spotted her quarry.

She wasn’t looking forward to this talk… but it needed to be done. She couldn’t tip-toe around it forever, no matter how much she wanted to.

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, she walked closer, glancing at where Cullen stood instructing the troops. She would get to him, soon enough. Probably just after Cassandra, but who could say? The woman was busy hacking away at a training dummy. Beating the stuffing out of it in a literal sense, tufts of straw falling to the ground like bits of viscera.

“He’s not much of a fighter, is he.” Shiral slid her hands into her coat pockets.

Cassandra halted mid-swing, turning slowly to gaze at her in surprise.

“Stressed?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“If you glared any harder, he might burst into flames.” Shiral scooped up the loose straw, absently poking it back into a hole her sword had made.

The woman sighed heavily, gazing out over the valley as she sheathed her blade. “Did I do the right thing?”

“Standing up to the Chantry and telling them to fuck off? Yeah… I’d say you did the right thing.”

“You sound so certain.”

“I am. The world is ending, for all we know, and they’re too busy bickering for position like a bunch of useless courtier fops. It’s stupid, honestly.”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Cassandra gave a quiet, breathy chuckle, but grew serious again soon enough when she turned to the elf. “Tell me… Do you believe in the Maker?”

“Dunno. Just like I dunno if I believe in the Creators, or the Qun. I don’t know what to believe. I’ve never been given REASON to believe.”

“Yes… Cullen spoke of the Kirkwall Circle, as did Varric. I can see how that would shake someone’s faith.”

“Too many people worry about the past world or the next. I say we should focus on putting our faith and effort into this world.”

“Well said. … I would also like to apologize—”

“Don’t worry about it. You were grieving. We all do things when we feel like that. Including me.”

“It’s no excuse. I should have found evidence, not jumped to conclusions.”

“Water under the bridge. Fair?” Shiral offered her hand.

“Fair.” Cassandra shook it, nodding to her.

They talked a bit more. About Cassandra’s past, about the Divine. Shiral listened, and let her vent. It looked like it did the woman some good, letting her de-stress a bit before continuing her training. Once she was taken care of, Shiral moved to the commander. She watched him a moment, noting the way he carried himself. Heavy. Burdened. Bearing purpose. It was different than she remembered.

“Oh. Herald. I apologize.” Cullen motioned for the captain to take over tutoring. “Is there something you needed…?”

“Just wanted to talk. On peaceful terms.” Shiral said, though she still watched him warily.

“Nothing I can say will make up for what you and the others went through. Only know that as long as I’m commander, I will not allow it to happen again.”

“I certainly hope not.” She muttered, pouting. “How are the other Templars?”

“Most are mage-sympathizers whom understand their duties are to protect mages, not abuse them. A few are scared, and talking of going off to join the Seekers in Val Royeaux, but they’ve yet to leave.”

Shiral followed his gaze to the one he was looking at. “And is there anything you need?”

“Not at the moment. Most of our recruits are pilgrims. Farmers. Old-timers. They need a lot of effort, but they’ll do.”

She nodded, striding away from him, up to the pair of Templars. The boy trailed off mid-sentence, ready to walk away until she caught him by the arm and pulled him back into place.

“I’m curious. Why did you become a Templar?” Shiral questioned.

“Magic is made to serve man and never to rule over him.” The recruit answered nervously. “Which is why we should leave and put an end to this war. Apostates are criminals, and dangerous ones. Killed or made Tranquil, I don’t care, but they need to be stopped.”

“I see… So, I should render you an emotionless husk for something you have no control over, such as your stupidity? I should kill you for the color of your eyes or skin?”

The recruit blanched and stumbled over his words like a child.

“No, please… Indulge me. Tell me why it was right for the Kirkwall Templars to beat, starve, whip, brand, rape, and murder mages simply because they have the misfortune of existing around your fine sensibilities. Tell me why it’s wrong that the mages decided to stand up and fight back.”

“I… I didn’t mean it, your worship.”

“You’re too busy listening to the words of Chantry officials with fat heads and full pockets to bother recalling mages are PEOPLE. You’d do well to remember that.”

He nodded, and stared down at his feet.

“Good lad. … Make sure you report to Cullen for training. You’ll need to be ready if you want to help save the world.”

The recruit looked up at her with a flicker of hope. “Yes, ma’am.”

\---------

Shiral tried to talk to everyone. Requisitions, the merchants, Josephine, Leliana… Varric she had already spoken to, though she caught sight of him sitting by a campfire, writing. Shiral chuckled to herself, glad for him. At least he had something of a distraction to look forward to. As she turned to head indoors to someplace warm, she saw another whom interested her a bit more.

Solas.

He was still something of a mystery to her. Tall – more than a foot taller than her – and a bit broad in the shoulders compared to other elves. Handsome, certainly. But there was something about him she couldn’t place. Something mysterious and strange that escaped her grasp. He stood staring up at the breach, his expression thoughtful and eyes calculating, hands clasped behind his back. Whatever notes he was making, they were mental notes alone.

It drew her to him, her steps bringing her closer to the subject of her fascination. Her steps up the stairs near his quarters were quiet. Practiced. Near perfect silence. Regardless, when she neared him, he turned with a subtlety that surprised her, stormy blue-grey eyes peering over his shoulder.

“How’d you hear me?” Shiral narrowed her eyes at him, though she gave him a little smirk. “Usually, the only person who can hear me is Kaariss, back home.”

“The snow.” Solas chuckled, turning to her. “I heard a soft crunch on the third step.”

“Mm. I’ll have to remember that. … What’re you doin?”

“Observing, da’len.”

“Aren’t you cold? I mean, I was freezing my ass off on the way to the temple. Do you need a jacket? Or blankets?”

“No, da’len. I’m fine.”

Shiral paused, watching him a moment. “I’m curious.”

“As am I.” Solas confessed, his gaze darting across her form. “I understand you and Varric know one another.”

“We only met briefly, in the past. He and Hawke saved my life, really.” She shrugged, gazing up at the breach.

“It isn’t my place to ask. But if you wish to discuss it, I would be willing to listen.”

There was a moment when she considered refusing. Only a moment. She had nothing to lose, nothing to gain. It was just a casual exchange of information. So, she told him. Of her clan, the Blight, the Templars, the Valo-Kas… She told him everything, though she summarized a good deal and left out a few things. No reason to spill her guts completely, after all.

“You’re Dalish, yet you bear no Vallaslin…?” Solas noted aloud, sounding slightly put off.

“I was too young to receive them, when it happened.” Shiral said, catching the change. “Relax. We don’t bite. Much. … I take it you’re from the city, then?”

“No. I grew up in a small village to the north. Of course, I left once I was old enough. There was little to interest me there, and I had no family. Orphan.”

“Oh… Ir abelas, lethallin. I didn’t know.”

“Ma serannas, da’len.” He gave her a soft smile, trying to reassure her and obviously so, though subdued.

“If I might ask… What kind of places have you traveled to?”

“Most of my travels are spent in the Fade. I’ve been able to study it firsthand, and I’ve seen ancient ruins and battlefields.”

“You’re a Dreamer, then?” There came a hint of excitement in her tone. “I’ve never met another Dreamer. But I’ve never gotten very far in to see much.”

“It takes a great deal of practice, though you seem skilled in many other ways, as well.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve trained yourself in the art of wielding a blade. To manipulate your environment to your advantage, and spot the weaknesses of your opponents. Natural grace and stealth are simply pleasing side-benefits.”

“Sweet-talker.” Shiral grinned at him, folding her arms. “From what I’ve seen, you’re not so bad yourself.”

He watched her, for a moment, as she pushed her bangs from her face.

“What kinds of ruins have you seen? What’re your favorites?”

“It’s impossible to choose favorites, but…” Solas paused a moment. “Many of my travels have taken me to ancient cities once home to an elven kingdom. Great libraries and temples, and vast garden courtyards.”

Shiral’s eyes widened in surprise, staring at him with a childlike wonder. He continued, briefly explaining some of his ventures, and things he had seen in regards to ancient elves. 

She was enthralled. It was almost too fantastic to believe, but she believed him. There was something honest in his words. Something wistful and intriguing.

“Considering your experience with the Fade, I’m even more glad you’re here.” Shiral concluded aloud.

“High praise, coming from the Herald of Andraste, mighty hero sent to save us all.” Solas gave her a strange, almost measured look, eyes giving her a once-over.

She snorted. “Oh? Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

“I would’ve suggested a griffin, but sadly, they’re extinct. Joke as you might, posturing is necessary.” He stepped aside, peering up at the breach.

Curious, Shiral followed him.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade not only among ruins and lost civilizations, but ancient battlefields. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits and demons reenacted the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

The rogue arched a brow as he looked over at her.

“Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

“Believe me… I am, too, even if I don’t look forward to it.”

Solas nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting back to the whirling vortex of green in the distance. “I will stay, then. At least until the Breach is closed.”

“You have other plans?”

His expression grew a touch irritated. “I am an Apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you, I have no divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been… accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

“You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.” Shiral said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“How would you stop them?”

“However I have to.”

He paused briefly, but afforded her a stiff nod. “Thank you. … Now, let us hope either the Mages or the Templars can assist us.”

\---------


	3. Dazed and Confused

Solas supposed the fairer sex would always be a mystery to all men. This one, however… This one is different. 

Their first encounter was hurried, but it told him a few things about the woman people were now calling ‘the Herald.’ She had been polite to him, accepting his introduction quickly before leading the way off to the forward camp. Her first priority was, clearly, closing the Rift. However, she took the mountain pass to save the missing scouts.

In battle, she was… remarkable. A deadly dancer whom wielded blades rather than fans. While she had not faced what most considered formal education, she was learned, knowing how to speak Trade, Qunlat, and a surprising amount of Elvhen – which Solas had found to be lost among the clans and alienages.

What puzzled him about her was her open-mindedness. She met the world with a child-like enthusiasm and he had never seen anything like it. Which was why he found himself watching her during quiet moments when she did not realize she was being watched.

He found, in some ways, her most intriguing trait was her love of the forge. She spent numerous hours of her free time working on weapons, thick leather gloves on her hands as she leaned a great blade back against her and sharpened it with a large file. Each thing she made was a unique piece of art, including designs beside the fullers, or etchings on the hilts and pommels. The armor, she spent the most time on, and he noticed she was particularly fond of drakestone.

Likewise, Shiral did not quite understand Solas. Varric? Sure. Cassandra? Easy. Josephine? Simple enough. Cullen? Decently. Leliana seemed a little psycho, and it was hard to contain her dislike of Vivienne, but she and Sera got along famously. Blackwall and Bull she was close to. Hard not to be, considering.

Pausing to check the stitching, she held the coat up and weighed it in her hands. The chain-mail she had added was seamlessly fit into it, blue Paragon’s luster with serpentstone patterns. She had made a matching gauntlet, luster with etchings of the pale, greenish metal. Solas had gotten hurt badly last time they fought Templars. The second they saw the mage, they all just ran at him. She wanted to give him a little more protection. He was powerful, but even the mighty could fall.

He was wise, certainly, and surprisingly learned considering always being on the run. His story had some kinks in it she could not quite work out, but she trusted him. His views were perfectly clear, and while quiet and reserved, tactfully made his opinions known when necessary.

Shiral pouted a bit where she sat on a crate by the smithy. Part of her worried he would not like this coat. She had made it in the fashion of her people. The Dalish. While comfortable with her, it was clear he had issues with them. Perhaps her trying to make him more comfortable was just making it worse?

Curious, Blackwall leaned against the short stone barrier by the smithy. Shiral’s handiwork never ceased to amaze him, and he had no doubt that if she was not the Herald, she could have made a handsome living making Elvish goods for more open-minded nobles.

“I think he’ll like it.” He finally said.

“Are you sure?” Shiral questioned, rubbing her thumbs over the soft white suede she had embroidered with green ivy patterns.

“Absolutely.”

She sighed, folding the finished coat and closing up her sewing kit. “Thanks, Blackwall.”

He nodded.

Leaving the smithy, Shiral made her way through Haven. She found her quarry in his usual place, gazing up at the sky in thought.

“Solas?”

The familiar voice drew him from his thoughts, his gaze turning from the Breach to the Herald. “Shiral. Do you need something?”

She held out a wrapped bundle to him. “Here. I made a new coat for your robes. It has a chain-mail underlay. Should give you some better protection.”

“Thank you, da’len.” Solas told her quietly, accepting the bundle and taking it into the small hut that had been deemed his quarters.

“Why do you call me that?” She folded her arms and leaned against the doorway, sweater falling to drape low on one shoulder. “You’re not that much older than me. What, ten years, at most?”

He set the armor on the table by the wall and stepped back outside. “I certainly feel old.”

She snickered. “Should I start calling you harhen?”

“If you wish.”

Shiral rolled her eyes, but was still smiling. “We’re heading back out to the Hinterlands, tomorrow, if you want to come along.”

“I’ll be ready.” Solas confirmed. “I imagined you would take Vivienne.”

The younger elf straightened, and walked to the short stone wall, dusting it off before she seated herself. “We’d probably kill one another, actually. Accepting her help was advantageous.”

“You’d rather it not be?” He arched a brow at her.

“She’s a jerk. I saw what happened in Kirkwall. I don’t need to justify my position on the matter, and I definitely shouldn’t have to explain it to a mage. I’ll never understand that woman.”

Solas chuckled quietly. “Yes. I suppose that’s true.”

She gave him a curious look. “Why can’t all people be as easy to talk to as you?”

“Were it anyone else, I wouldn’t be as accommodating.”

“Oh?” Now, a smug look came over her, that familiar, flirty look she tended to give him and him alone. “Well, I feel special, now.”

He was about to reply, only to fall silent as the Herald grunted, a snowball colliding with the back of her head.

* “Ha!” Sera cheered. “Sorry to be a cockblock, but I just nailed Madam Fussybritches!”

“I’ll show you Madam Fussybritches!” Shiral laughed, grinning as she turned and jumped down the short embankment, scooping up some snow and throwing it.

The blonde yelped as it hit her shoulder, and kept running with a cackle.

Shiral looked up at Solas. “So… I’ll see you tomorrow?”

He nodded.

The Herald turned and ran after the other rogue. Solas sighed quietly. Yes. She was still very much a mystery to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yes, I just referenced Avatar the last Airbender. LOL.


	4. Banters Afield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that Shiral says. LOL...

“Look, I’m not a mage, but there was definitely something up with him.” Shiral muttered as they watched the Templars walk away, departing from the bazaar. 

\---------

Part of Solas guessed both Vivienne and Shiral being around at the same time was an unwise idea. It was clear the two of them held no love of one another, nor each other’s opinions. Even so, Shiral kept her mouth shut. As Solas expected, it was Vivienne who instigated the conversation, or perhaps, the argument.

“Tell me something, Shiral.” Vivienne said in her usual tone. “You’ve openly voiced support for the mage rebellion. Why is that?”

“I saw what happened in Kirkwall.” Shiral huffed coldly with a frown. “And I don’t have to justify myself to you.”

\---------

“Pavus is a respected name in Tevinter. A very powerful family.” Shiral noted aloud as they stepped out of the Redcliffe Chantry. “Why is he here by himself? And to what end?”

“That’s… a good point.” Bull agreed.

“All of this is distasteful.” Cassandra sighed. “Perhaps we should seek out the Templars instead.”

Shiral glanced at the seeker. “If we go to them, we lose the mages. We need the mages first so we can make sure they understand our motives. Then we can find the Templars.”

\---------

“Hey. Shiral.” Bull said as they walked through the Hinterlands.

“Hm?” She replied.

“When you’re fighting, have you ever just ran by some guy, cut his throat, and kept going?”

“Once. Made a horrible mess. I never got the stains out.”

Bull snickered quietly while Shiral smirked silently.

\---------

“Bull, I have a question.” Shiral announced.

“Yeah?” The Qunari arched a brow at her.

“Next time we fight bandits, can you try to knock one up into the air or something?”

“Why?”

“I wanna see if I can kill someone before they hit the ground.”

“Awesome!”

\---------

“So, Shiral…” Bull paused briefly. “Do you think there’s a chance you and I could…?”

“Nope.” Shiral told him casually.

“That was a pretty quick ‘nope.’”

“We’re friends, and comrades. And leather isn’t really my thing.”

“Oh?” This piqued his interest. “Then what is your thing?”

“Lace.” She chirped happily.

“I never would’ve guessed.”

The Dalish mercenary laughed quietly but with triumph, surprised she had caught the trained Ben-Hassrath agent off guard. Solas was doing his best to ignore the conversation, despite the fact ideas of Shiral and lacy things were now floating around in his head, making his cheeks darken a fraction.

\---------

“Shiral, you’re a mercenary, right?” Blackwall questioned. “Who do you work for?”

“According to most, Orlesian nobles.” She answered.

“And according to you?”

“Myself. Obviously.”

\---------

“You say you’ve been to Kirkwall.” Cassandra noted, walking among her comrades. “That you saw what led to the rebellion.”

“The war.” Shiral corrected. “Yeah. I did.”

“And you don’t believe there was any other way?”

“Back someone into a corner and they’ll fight. Doesn’t matter if they’re mages or otherwise. Once Meredith went off the deep end, massive bloodshed was bound to happen.”

\---------

“Do you believe there can truly be peace, Shiral?”

Shiral looked over at Cassandra. “There can be, if both sides got their heads out of their asses.”

“That is… not what I imagined you saying.”

“Both sides have their points. It’s a matter of finding the best points, then trimming out the fat.”


	5. The First Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I really like the bandit fort out in the Hinterlands.

“Well… shit.” Shiral muttered as she, Solas, Bull, and Varric huddled behind a rocky outcropping, staring at a bandit hold. “So much for this being easy.”

“You’d be bored if it was.” Varric smirked up at her.

A quiet laugh left her. “Yeah. I guess.”

“A fort like that always has a back way inside.” Bull supplied, watching their quarry carefully. “Looks like they’ve got some heavy armor and weapons. Going straight in would be suicide.”

“Okay…” Shiral considered a moment. “Could we draw them out? Distract them, somehow?”

“Maybe. What’ve you got?”

“A jar of bees…?”

“What?” Solas looked over at her, wondering if he had misheard.

“It was Sera’s idea!” Shiral shrugged innocently. 

“Of course, it was.” He sighed.

“I can probably sneak close enough to throw it in.”

“Alright. Then, what?” Bull questioned.

Shiral thought a moment. “Okay. Plan. I throw in the jar of bees. Varric, you pick people off from a distance while Bull and I jump in while they’re confused. Solas, stay at a safe distance but be ready in case we need healing.”

“As you like.” Solas nodded, though he did not particularly care for the plan.

“Bull, when you and I get in there, I’ll distract the two big guys and you throw a firebomb between them. After that, we should be able to mop them up.”

\---------

Naturally, it did not go according to plan. Not entirely, anyhow. It started smoothly, only for Shiral to get bumrushed by a bandit assassin in the shadows. Bull was separated from her by a crowd of warriors, leaving the two fighting one-on-one.

The pair struggled with one another, daggers flashing dangerously, sparks flying. She was faster, but he was stronger. She dodged a blow aimed for her throat, one of his daggers breaking on the stone wall behind her. Shiral kneed him in the stomach, making him stumble back with a grunt. As she swiped her blades at him, he rolled to the side, grabbing the spiked mace dropped by one of his fallen comrades.

A yelp left her as he parried with his remaining dagger, flinging one of her own blades off into the distance. It gave him an opening to strike her in the side. Her breath left her in a rush as a rib broke and the spikes tore into her flesh. The blow sent her falling to the side, blood seeming from the wound. Solas tensed and quickly ran towards the keep, Varric calling after him and following.

Gritting her teeth, Shiral punched her assailant hard. Using the opening, she twisted the assassin’s arm behind his back and wrenched his hand upwards. Throwing all her weight into it, she heard a wet crack as his shoulder was popped out of socket. He shouted at the pain of it, stumbling forward away from her. Shiral pulled a blade off her belt, throwing it his way.

It missed. Just as the assassin turned to attack again, he was blasted aside with a burst of Fade-magic, going over a railing. The fall killed him, judging from the moist crunch of a body hitting stone. Finished destroying the other bandits, Bull turned, but his question of whether or not she was alright died before he could speak it. Solas caught her as she fell and lowered her to the ground.

“Shit… Boss, I—”

“Not your fault…” Shiral rasped with a wince and a forced smirk.

Solas concentrated on healing her, palm pressed to the wound. She had lost a great deal of blood, now pale with crimson soaking her clothes.  
A pained whine left her as the wound began to heal from the inside-out, making her shift restlessly.

“Hold still, da’len.” Solas told her firmly, shooting her a slight glare.

“Sorry. It—” A pop sounded as a broken rib slid back into place. “FENEDHIS LASA!!!”

“Hold still!” His free hand came up to rest on her shoulder.

She sobbed, gripping his wrists.

“Bull… Hold her down.” Solas muttered heavily. “Ir abelas, da’len. Just a bit longer. But I need to get this healed properly. – Varric, ready a few potions. Even after I heal her, we’ll need to deal with blood-loss.”

\---------

Shiral was uncertain if she had passed out, or if she had fallen asleep when the ordeal was finally over. When she awoke, however, she found she was safe in their new fort, surrounded by her comrades and some soldiers that could be spared to hold the place before an occupying force arrived to take over for them.

She was tucked away in a tent, her feet propped on her horse’s saddle where it lay on the foot of her bedroll. Solas’ cloak was pulled over her, keeping her warm. A quiet little sigh left her. It smelled… Familiar. Cozy. Like elfroot, snow, and books. Cracking an eye to see she was alone, she pulled it up a bit higher, the hood tucked under her chin.

A rustle of cloth drew her attention. Again cracking an eye, she peered up to see Solas as he knelt beside her.

“Hi.” Shiral murmured tiredly.

“How do you feel?” Solas questioned, sitting on his knees and taking her hand gently.

“Tired. Sore. But hey, I’m alive. I guess that’s what counts, right?”

“You should be more careful in the future, da’len. I…” He frowned, trailing off.

A weak chuckle left her. “Now don’t tell me you’d miss me.”

Solas raised a brow at her. “I have reason to.”

“Oh?”

“I… don’t make friends, easily. But I count you among them.”

Shiral smiled. “Same to you, lethallin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jar of Bees. WTF. Best grenade ever!


	6. A Glimpse of Terror

Rather than put off as everyone else seemed, Shiral was more curious of Dorian than anything else. Her open mind allowed her to take what he said at face-value. That was probably for the best considering what happened when they returned to Redcliff.

It happened suddenly. The Magister raised a greenish pendant that pulsed with an unnatural magic. An unnatural twisting of his magic, directed at Shiral. Before Solas gave it much thought, both he and Dorian rushed Alexius at the same time. There was a crack of thunder and a shift in the Fade, followed by the two mages surfacing in a dark and flooded dungeon. Killing the two guards was child’s play, of course. Discerning the situation, not so much.

“Astounding.” Dorian mused. “He must have transported us through time!”

Solas’ brows furrowed in concern as he observed their surroundings. “Forward, or back? And how far?”

“Those… are excellent questions.”

“More importantly, can we get back? You’re more familiar with this magic than I.”

“We could, in theory, provided we are able to find Alexius and take his amulet. If the blasted thing has even been made yet. Hopefully, we’ve been sent forward. Things will be less complicated that way.” Dorian sighed. “Come along. We need to see what we’re dealing with.”

He and Dorian had managed to figure out two things. They were in the future, ahead by one year, and their comrades – Bull, Shiral, and Leliana – had been imprisoned. The first place they headed to was the cells. When they found Shiral… horror and grief did not begin to describe what Solas felt when they found her.

She was in a small cell, pacing and murmuring to herself in broken Dalish Elvhen. Her back was to them, and it was clear she was underfed. There was a pronounced limp where her leg had been broken and untended, now healed over, and her left arm had been amputated at the shoulder. When she felt their presence, she turned, and stared with disbelief before rushing to the door and vaulting her arm between the bars, reaching for his hand. While startled at first and backing up, Solas soon returned to her, gently taking her hand in his, her skin cold and clammy.

“Solas, ma lethallin… Please say you’re real! Tell me this is real!”

“I’m real, da’len. I’m here.” He assured her.

Dorian piped up beside him. “Alexius sent us forward in time to right now. He didn’t kill us.”

“There was…” Shiral took a shaking breath. “There was a fuckin burn on the floor and smoke…”

“Shh.” Solas reached through the bars with his other hand, cupping her face and calming her.

“If… If you got sent forward in time, can you go back? Can you stop this?”

“We plan to.”

“Get the door open. I’ll help however I can.”

“What happened?” Dorian questioned her.

She paused before sighing heavily. “The empress was assassinated. There was an army of demons, and Templar and Warden deserters… The Veil broke under the Breach’s power, Fen’harel save us all…”

“Are you ill?” Solas asked her.

“Red lyrium. It’s like a wasting disease. I only hope I die in battle. The alternative is worse.” Shiral muttered. “Let’s go. Alexius locked himself in the throne room and Bull’s on the other end of the dungeons.”

When they got outside, Solas felt a great many things. Mostly horror. It sickened him to see the world in such a state. The Veil was shattered, yes, but rather than tending to the world as one would a garden, the Elder One had let it fall to ruin. He would need to fix this. All of it. And if he had anything to say about it, it would be two birds with one stone.

\--------- 

“An hour?!” Leliana demanded. “You don’t understand! You must go now!”

The entire keep shook, making them glance about in surprise.

“The Elder One.”

Shiral and Bull looked to one another and nodded before she drew the sword she had picked up. “We’ll hold them off as long as we can.”

Solas tensed. “Da’len – ”

“We’re dying anyway, Solas.” She told him. “Cast the spell. Make it so this never happens.”

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he nodded stiffly, and watched as the two of them marched outside the doors. Frantically, he helped Dorian to work on the spell, glancing over his shoulder when the doors finally burst open. Demons swarmed in, one of them dragging a limp Shiral by her throat and dropping her body to the floor.

\---------

Little was said on the way back to Haven. Shiral lingered close to Solas, worried for him, while Dorian rode next to Bull and Varric. She did not know what had happened, no one but the two mages did, but she could tell something was off.

“Are you alright, lethallin?” She asked him.

“No. But it will pass, with time.” Solas assured her quietly.

He did not know how to tell her otherwise. They were fast friends, yes, but Solas could not quite find the words to express how she had given him some measure of hope. A faint glimmer in the darkness he hid so well. It had led him to act impulsively with the urge to save her.

They met with the council before leaving Shiral to them to discuss what to do. Solas returned to his quarters, but was reluctant to change out of his gear. It was still new, the fur and fabric of his robes still smelling of her from when she made it. Like elfroot, lotus, smoke, and metal overtop what was unique to her. Still, he changed, laying them out and stepping outside for some fresh air. Leaned against the hut given to him, Dorian watched in silence. At first, anyways. After a moment, he approached.

“I take it you two are close.” Dorian mused.

“We’re friends, yes.” Solas replied, a little bit of strain running along the edge of his voice.

“Even so, you responded a bit strongly for just a friend.”

He casted the Altus a half-hearted glare.

“No offense meant. It’s nice to know she has someone looking out for her in this mess.”

The two of them saw Shiral approaching. Turning away from Dorian, Solas met her at the top of the stairs. “A word.”

She nodded, waving to Dorian that she would see him later before walking with her fellow elf. “Something on your mind?”

“Yes.” He waited a bit until they were both out of earshot of others, taking the road that circled the lake. “What I saw… It troubles me, da’len.”

She tilted her head curiously and folded her arms. “Understandable, considering what you described.”

Halting by the dock, he gazed at her, expression grim and serious. “You gave your life so we could return.”

“I imagine I would, in that situation. Didn’t seem like we had much choice besides.”

“I know. But it still troubles me. As do many of the things I saw.”

She nodded in understanding.

He sighed. “Thank you. For listening.”

“It’s fine. Sometimes talking can be good. Perhaps we could continue?”

“Is there something you wish to discuss?”

“Well, yeah. I mean… Is there any way I can make you more comfortable with the People?” She questioned.

Solas smiled at her well-meaning question. “Knowing you has done that well enough.”

For a moment, Shiral feels her mind de-rail and her cheeks grew hot like she was some blushing maiden – which she was not. “Sweet-talker.”

He smirked, but it was brief. His first reaction to the Dalish had made her wary of sharing her culture with him. Now, as he stood beside her, watching her gaze up at the Breach with a mix of awe and worry, part of him was regretting that. Solas found he wanted her to be comfortable. Well, he wanted her in general. It pained him, knowing his path, but just as his thoughts would grow dark and turn to the abyss, she would show up and distract him.

“Da’len?”

“Yeah?” Shiral looked to him.

“I wish to hear more about your people. More in general. Perhaps it can help me better understand them.”

The statement took her by surprise and she stared at him for a second. Shiral did not prod too much at her companions, having a belief that if someone wanted to talk, they would, and should only be asked about it once. She had presumed that he had run into a Dalish clan that was less than friendly, and was wary around them as such. The fact he had asked her for information, that he wanted to understand the Dalish better, made a warm feeling of trust settle in her chest.

Then, she gave a smile, pleased his disdain had given way to wanting to understand. Or, so she believed. His intention was to put her at ease more than to actually gain any knowledge. They were Dalish. There was nothing to learn.

But as she spoke, Solas found he became lost in her words. She told him about how they traveled, and why. Looking for home. Not wanting to regain an old past, but wanting to forge new memories. Wanting a new home, and a new way of life. Something her clan claimed Fen’harel had given them. She had even seen other clans that kept statues of the Dread Wolf at the edge of camp to ward off evil and ill-luck. It was not what he expected.

“The people view it all as a story more than anything. Sure, they’re superstitious, but…” Shiral trailed off and sighed.

“You don’t think so?” Solas questioned.

“There’s a gaping hole in the sky, lethallin!” She barked out a laugh that ended in a quiet snort and a sigh. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Especially with what you and Dorian found?”

He did not answer her, but thankfully she did not look his way.

Shiral then frowned. “I’m worried, I guess. What if the Creators do come back? What if my clan was right, and the others don’t listen?”

“If that is the case, I doubt the Dread Wolf would allow them to harm the People, if he could help it.” Solas said, wishing he could just tell her. It would feel better than hiding.

“I guess. Maybe he’s still alive somewhere. Maybe. I dunno. All this shit’s confusing.”

“You don’t believe in gods?”

“I’ve never been a religious type.” Shiral confessed. “I mean, between the Chantry and the Qun and Tevinter cults, I just… I’ve never seen the point. Not like gods answer prayers, anyways.”

And he wanted to answer hers. Wanted to so badly, right there in that instant. Just because she and her dead clan believed in him.

She looked over at him as they stood together, noting a strange and wistful look on his face. Shiral was glad he wanted to ask her things as much as she asked him, but at the same time, she thought it was odd that he knew so little of the Dalish. Even city-elves knew of them.

Pushing aside this doubt, she rested her head against his shoulder, earning a little smile from him.


	7. Knightfall

It was a surprise how many had voiced support for the freedom of mages. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t. When people learned how their loved-ones were being treated, and heard the Tale of the Champion, they understood all too well why equal rights were important. Anytime a noble asked her, Shiral made certain to remind them it wasn’t just about mages, but freedom and rights for all peoples.

Many nobles came to the fort to weigh in on the matter. However, Shiral was only interested in one of them, spotting him in the crowd. Her steps quickened until she was jogging briskly.

“Esmeral!”

He turned, and chuckled as the elf jumped into his arms. “It’s good to see you, Shiral. Maker, you’ve no idea how worried I’ve been.”

“I could guess.” She pulled away, looking up at him. “Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me.”

“I wouldn’t miss it. I’ve been telling these fools that mage freedom needed to happen. Now, they have no choice but to listen.”

She nodded, and gestured for him to lead the way.

In silence, Solas observed the pair as they began conversing in Orlesian, Shiral with surprising fluency. There were a few snide remarks, and a few quiet laughs, and an obscene gesture on Shiral’s part that had the nobleman stifling his laughter by clearing his throat, the man resting a gloved hand over his chest. Part of him wondered about their history, but he pushed the thought aside. Now wasn’t the time. They halted near the gates after some more jovial, friendly conversation. It was quick to grow serious.

“The Templars are willing to hear your petition. The Seeker, however, has been absent and sent his lead captain to greet us when we first arrived. Rude… and unusual.” Esmeral stated, hands on his hips as he gazed to the crowd past the gates.

“Anything else weird?” Shiral questioned, also watching them.

“Yes. Many of the Templars… Hm. You’ve seen what they get like without their lyrium, I presume? It’s the exact opposite. Many are distracted, muttering to themselves. I’ve noticed several recruits whom disappeared after asking questions.” 

“That’s not good.”

“The Seeker sent word he refuses to meet anyone but YOU in person. Strange, given the spat in Val Royeaux. Tread carefully, Shiral.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. … We can catch up more after this, yeah?”

“Of course.” Esmeral nodded, leading the way onwards. “It appears they sent someone to greet you. Ready?”

“As always, as much as I hate politics.”

He gave a wry chuckle, approaching the Templar whom had been sent their way.

“I present Knight Templar Ser Delrin Barris, second son of Lord Jevrin Barris of Ferelden.” The manservant announced when Esmeral and Shiral stood before him. “Ser Barris, if I may have the pleasure to introduce Lord Esmeral Abernache—”

The manservant was cut off as Barris strode past them to Shiral. Her hands fell to her Ulaks on reflex, but the young man had a desperate and uneasy look about him. Esmeral stood aghast, shocked that he had been dismissed so quickly without so much as a howdy-do.

“I’m the one who sent word to Commander Cullen.” Barris informed her with hurried words. “He said the Inquisition aims to close this Breach in the Veil.”

“That’s the plan, though it seems most of the Chantry is willing to watch the world crumble before them.” Shiral drawled, watching him with a wary eye.

“I didn’t think you’d bring such lofty company.”

“Most days, I refuse to fight an unarmed opponent.” She growled, leering mildly at him.

Esmeral cleared his throat, stepping closer to her. “Barris. Moderate holdings, your family… And the SECOND son?” He scoffed.

Barris shot him a glare before returning his attention to the Herald. “This promise of status has garnered interest from the Lord Seeker… beyond sense. The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls of magic until you and your friends arrive.”

“Cassandra?” Shiral looked back at the woman. “Is this how they should be led?”

“In an emergency, but his first recourse should be to restore order. Not this.” Cassandra explained.

“He has taken command. Permanently.” Barris added, glancing between them.

“If he feels there is a holy mandate…”

“That is what the Lord Seeker claims, and our commanders parrot him.” The knight stepped closer with a sigh. “His actions make no sense. He promised to restore the order’s honor, and then marched here to wait. Templars know their duty, even when held from it.”

“Mm-hm. And Kirkwall?”

“Merediths orders deserve condemnation, I make no arguments towards that. … Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied Templar will help the Inquisition seal the Breach?”

“And if I reminded you I wrote a mandate giving mages freedom and equal rights?”

“I would respect it. Whether others will remains to be seen.”

“Why not just leave him to join us?”

“We cannot simply abandon our orders. Not when so many of so many officers whom survived the Conclave follow him. We’ve been asked to accept much, after the shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour.”

“Don’t keep your betters waiting, Barris.” Esmeral quipped in irritation. “There’s important work to be done, for those born to it.”

Shaking his head, Barris led them further into the fort, to a courtyard. “The Lord Seeker has a request, before you meet him. … These are the standards, centered on the Maker, the People, and the Order. He asks you perform the rite to see in which order you honor them.”

Shiral bristled, her irritation mounting. “Listen to me very carefully. I don’t have the time or patience for this shit on a good day. Quit pussyfootin around it and take me to the Seeker. Now.”

“Very well.” The knight grumbled, leading them inside. He spoke briefly to one of the others, whom departed the room as they gathered around a narrow war-table.

“It’s necessary, you know.” Esmeral chided, folding his arms. “You don’t run a battlefield by committee.”

“Without faith, you’ve no knights.” Barris argued, pointing accusingly at him as figures approached from the doorway. “You’ve… Knight Captain?”

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker?” The captain peered about the room. “He sent me to die for you.”

Shiral stepped closer, ushering Esmeral behind her with one hand.

“Knight Captain Denam,” Barris straightened and gestured to the elf, “I’ve brought the Inquisition’s representatives. Will the Lord Seeker not see them?”

Denam’s gaze focused upon her, but his eyes were… glassy. Not really there. “So, his is the herald of change. You’re why everything must be moved ahead.”

“I’m assuming he’s under-the-weather?” Shiral looked to Barris for insight.

“I tried to ready us. I thought I knew the way.”

Barris approached the senior officer, gaze growing heated. “Captain, I must know what is going on.”

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!” Soldiers gathered from the shadows, weapons ready. “The Elder One is coming. No one will leave Therinfal who is not stained red!”

The knights attacked, killing several of their fellows in the room. Shiral grabbed Esmeral and shoved him aside, dodging the blade that had been aimed for his chest and nearly hitting her arm. In an instant, he drew the rapier at his hip, and her blades were out.

\---------

It had left her shaken. Shiral avoided her comrades, shying away from them and finding some measure of solitude out in the old cabin by the lake. People knew when she went there that if they wanted to see her, someone had better be dying.

Thus, it was something of a surprise for someone to come knocking at the door. Shiral rubbed her face before getting up and heading to the door, though relief washed over her when she saw it was Solas. He stood before her, a concerned sort of expression on his face. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in, fresh snow falling in big, heavy flakes from a clouded sky that threatened a blizzard in the near future.

“I came to check on you, lethallan.” Solas told her, his voice quiet. “Are you alright?”

“Not in the slightest.” She muttered, sitting down at the desk she had repurposed as a table at the cabin’s center, and gesturing to the other chair.

He frowned, noting the bottle of grey whiskey and the glass beside it, half-finished.

“It’s just… that THING… that was the first spirit or demon or whatever that I’ve ever encountered. And it… Solas, it TERRIFIED me.” She hugged herself with a shudder.

Solas sat down across from her.

“Not because of what it was. It’s… It showed me… It sat there and told me that it wanted to BE me. That it wanted to masquerade as me. It showed me becoming some bloodthirsty tyrant as bad as Meredith and it…” The woman shook her head and took a swig of her drink.

“Envy aspires to be many things. It often believes it can do a job better. With more efficiency. It hungers for acknowledgement. For fame, and attention. Such is why it felt so drawn to you.”

Her eyes, tired and uneasy, rose to meet his gaze.

“Just because it wished to twist you in such a fashion doesn’t mean YOU would have, lethallan. That’s an important difference to remember.”

Shiral pouted, but muttered a quiet thanks, propping her brow on the heel of one hand.

“Your choice surprised me.”

“Hm?”

“Your decision to ally with the Templars.” Solas clarified, sitting back and crossing his legs, hands clasped in his lap.

“Under the stipulation they acknowledge that mages are free now, and they treat them like people and respect them.”

“As you say. Even so, it couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

“It wasn’t. I wanted to disband and conscript them. I was angry. Pissed. Terrified.” Shiral scoffed, running a finger along the rim of her glass. “Esmeral pulled me to the side and convinced me to let him handle it.”

“He’s rather invested in mage rights…”

“His lover is a former Circle mage from Ostwick and former prisoner of Kirkwal. Travelyan, I think her name is? They met during a diplomatic gala and, well… It just took off from there.”

Solas watched her fidget with the fishhook amulet she now wore. “What was his name?”

“Arapaima. He said he took his name from a fish. Said that a big-ass arapaima pushed his pursuers out of their boat and allowed him to escape. He had a tattoo of one, on his back. Wore fish-scale earrings. It was almost an obsession, but he was like a big brother.”

He watched her give a bittersweet smile.

“A silly, clingy, goofy big brother who liked cupcakes a little too much, but still…” Shiral sighed, pushing her bangs from her face. “I tried going back to find something of the others. Darben’s earring, Kastlok’s bracelet, or Esaam’s hairpin. Even their swords. Nothing.”

“I’m sure they would appreciate the effort, lethallan, as well as the fact you lived.” Solas told her, gently resting a hand on her wrist when she made to grab the glass again.

Shiral tried to give him a glare, but it broke under the softness of his steady gaze.

“Get some sleep, Shiral. I’ll remain, for a bit, to ward off any nightmares.”

“I… Yeah. … Thanks.”

\---------


	8. Echoes in the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said you had to be a mage to be a Dreamer?

The rain had finally stopped. That did not mean the trouble did, of course. There were still pockets of Templars here and there, many of them half-insane from red lyrium or fanaticism. Namely here in the Hinterlands.

Shiral had found their second encampment. Further up the river, alarmingly close to the farms. Said river was swollen with rain, a rushing torrent alongside the clatter of weapons and the spark of magic. While she did not like bringing her mage companions with her to hunt Templars, she knew she needed a healer – Solas – and an elementalist – Dorian – to get any leeway on these people. Bull was just added muscle, since she herself could tear through soldiers without issue.

The fight was almost finished. At first, she did not quite catch it… A clash from the corner of her eye. Fade-magic slipping across the shield of a Templar and a rush of crimson. It made her head turn fully and horror washed over her like a winter tide. One Templar had Solas by the throat, the mage’s staff having been snapped in half by a savage blow before he was impaled on a longsword, only a few inches from and dangerously close to his heart.

“Solas!” Shiral rushed to him, but did not get there fast enough.

The Templar pulled his sword free and shoved the mage backwards over the edge, down into the rapids. What he did not count on was an enraged rogue tackling him into the water. With how heavy his plate-armor was, he would drown. With this in mind, she pushed away from him, ducking beneath the waves into the clear mountain water. She saw pink here and there, quickly making it to the broken bridge.

She was pulled under by the riptide. It was not strong, but was strong enough to grab Solas as well, holding him under as he bled heavily from his side. When Shiral swam down to him, cupping his face in hand, his eyes just barely slatted open. He was there, but barely, and within two seconds, that focus was lost, pupils swallowing grey-blue.

Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the mage by his robes and hauled him against her, pushing off the rocky riverbottom. They were swept under the bridge, the woman swimming sideways to the current and pulling him with her.

“Kaffas, where did they end up?!” Dorian questioned, running along the shore and Bull just behind him.

“There!” Bull said, smacking his arm and pointing.

The two figures were on the smooth pebble shore. What brought Dorian and Bull skidding to a stop just across from them was the state of the two. Shiral was sitting on her knees, holding Solas to her chest. The mark on her hand was flickering wildly, her eyes wide and glowing a warm green hue.

\---------

The Fade… Solas was accustomed to visiting both in sleep and unconsciousness. Apparently, in death as well. A final visit.

Glancing down at himself, he saw the wound in his side. The bleeding had ceased because his heart had stopped. He felt… Cold. Heavy. Tired.

This was it. His final moments and...

Before he had a chance to revisit his regrets and self-loathing, movement caught his eye. Turning, he saw it was… a doe. A large but young red hart that bore a crown of branches that mimicked the antlers of a stag, strings of beads and tasseled ribbons hanging from them. She seemed to glow, radiating a pale green and gold light that, in fact, comprised her entire form.

This was not Ghilan’nain. She would be a halla if that were the case, and would be attacking him. This one was… someone or something else. A spirit, perhaps.

Mist swished around her long legs as she strode closer, soon standing right in front of him.

“What manner of spirit are you?” Solas questioned softly, voice rough and barely audible.

Naturally, she did not answer. Instead, she nosed his shoulder before biting his sleeve and pulling him, tugging him towards her as she backed up. Pain skittered through his chest…

\---------

The motionless elf tensed in Shiral’s arms, the glow vanishing from her eyes as she turned him onto his uninjured side. He retched, a mixture of blood and water spilling onto the grassy shore as she put pressure on his side, relieved by the sound of coughing and ragged breaths.

Bull and Dorian crossed using what was left of the bridge, the mercenary nearly falling in when part of it caved underfoot. Even so, they made it over, reaching them. Dorian knelt in the grass. While not the best with healing magic, he knew enough to save someone’s life, healing the worst of it so a potion could take care of the rest.

“Where’s the nearest camp?” Shiral looked up at Bull questioningly.

“By the farm or up by the lake. We’re smack in the middle.” He told her.

She chewed her lower lip. Farm was uphill, but they would risk running into more Templars if they went back to the lake. “Okay. Dorian, help me bind his wound. We’re heading up to the farm camp.”

\---------

“Here are the herbs you wanted.” The scout bowed his head as he handed them to Shiral.

She uttered a quick thanks and grabbed her alchemy kit before looking at Dorian. “Here. I need you to boil this lotus into a tea.”

“For…?”

“He has a fever. I need to make a poultice to get rid of any infection. The tea will help ease his fever better than draining you with a constant spell.”

Nodding, he quickly pitched in. “How strong?”

“As strong as you can make it. The water needs to at least be the color of dry blood.”

While the comparison made Dorian wince, he nodded. Bull watched them, also keeping a close eye to make sure no Templars followed them. He was certain they had finally purged all of them, but even so, he still felt jumpy. Solas was a powerful mage. Seeing him almost fall… That was not something Bull ever really expected to see.

Shiral channeled all of her frustration into making the poultice, pulverizing herbs and roots, adding sap and a pinch of lyrium. It made a thick, sticky salve that could put aloe to shame. Making her way into the tent with her mortar bowl in hand, she knelt beside Solas. He was alive, but still unconscious, his cheeks and shoulders flushed with fever. It was a sudden one, likely from nearly being drowned on top of having a punctured lung, since healed with magic thanks to Dorian.

Carefully, she unwrapped the makeshift bandages. The Tevinter mage had indeed healed the worst of it, leaving a deep gash and bruised ribs that would heal in due time. Taking some of the salve onto her fingers, she spread it carefully over the wound, pausing when he groaned softly. Only when she was certain he was still out did she continue.

“Alright. Here’s the tea. And bandages.” The tent rustles as Dorian stepped in. “Bull’s keeping an eye on things. No sign of Templars.”

“Good.” Shiral said. “Thanks.”

“Will you need help?”

“Yeah. Sit him up so I can get the bandages on him.”

Dorian nodded, easing his fellow mage up. Both of them gasped at what they saw. Many scars littered Solas’ pale flesh. Ones from blades, claws, and some even caused by brands, suggesting torture. Shiral felt a sense of bloody vengeance against whoever had done it, but she knew it was not something he would want to discuss, or want her to handle. In her experience, men were touchy about that sort of thing. Even so, he was still out like a light.

The woman bandaged him carefully before he was laid back down on the bedroll, bare save for his breeches and a blanket draped over his lower body. Dorian observed as she pulled a small flask off her belt.

“What is that?” He questioned.

“Smelling-salt. I need to get him awake to drink some of the tea.” Shiral explained. “Can you use magic to keep him awake a little longer? To get a whole dose down.”

“I can certainly try.”

She uncorked the vial and waved it briefly under Solas’ nose. He jolted and coughed at the burn in his sinuses it caused, only for warm hands to gently keep him laying down. His head swam, ears ringing, his entire side on fire with every breath.

“Easy. Easy…” Shiral soothed quietly. “Solas, I need to give you some tea to ease your fever. Alright?”

He nodded, coherent enough to understand but not enough to give further reply. Dorian helped him sit up, the woman gave him about half of the tea. It was still warm. It felt like it was burning as it slid down his throat to settle in his stomach, a wince crossing his face as he was laid back down.

“Rest, lethallin. We’ve got you.” She murmured, grabbing a damp rag from a bowl of water she had at the ready, folding it and resting it on his brow.

\---------

Solas tried to find the spirit from before again. There was no sign of her, nor any spirit he could ask if they knew who she was. However, when he next came to, he realized it may not have been a spirit, listening to the conversation unfolding outside the tent.

“Dorian, I’m not a mage.” Shiral told him. “I really don’t know what happened. I don’t even remember. I just grabbed him and dragged him out of the water.”

A sigh followed, and Solas could picture Dorian pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Fade isn’t my area of expertise, but what I saw definitely wasn’t normal. Perhaps Solas will know, once he comes around.”

Wincing, Solas tried to sit up, only to let out a clipped sound of pain as he lowered himself back down to the bedroll. Having heard the sound, Shiral entered the tent, seeing him grip his side. She sat beside him, inspecting the wound to make sure it had not started bleeding again.

“You scared the hell outta me. Just so you know.” Shiral huffed, frowning.

“Ir abelas, lethallan.” Solas murmured, still groggy from both medicine and blood-loss.

She took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll recover. You and Dorian did a fine job.”

“It shouldn’t have happened to begin with. We were hunting Templars. I knew I should’ve just…” A sigh left her and she pouted.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for this, Shiral. If anything, I should not have attempted facing their leader alone. I underestimated the effectiveness of Templar abilities.”

She did not seem convinced, but nodded with a frown.

“What were you discussing with Dorian?”

Shiral gathered her thoughts before explaining what her comrades said they saw. Solas listened intently, keeping weight off his injured side by letting his arm just lay beside him, his other hand on his uninjured side. When she finished, he told her what he saw in the Fade, and she was stunned.

“Solas, I’m a Dreamer, but I’ve never… I’ve never done anything like that.” Shiral said quietly.

He gave her a reassuring sort of smile. “You’ll grow more accustomed to it with practice, I think.”

“Not if practice involves you or anyone else dying, I won’t.”

\---------

When she got back to Haven, the first thing Shiral did was head to the forge. She commissioned some supplies, repaired her comrades’ armor, and made some new additions. Upon returning to his quarters from consulting with Dorian on other matters, Solas found a strong but lightweight chestplate of paragon’s luster. Etched into the metal were designs of Elvhen henna and the Inquisition emblem. Along with it was a new staff, crafted from serpentstone with a blue vitriol blade and a weighted end of drakestone.

Attatched was a simple note. “I wanted to give this in person but Cullen dragged me to a meeting. Make sure it fits so I can adjust it if I need to. – Shiral”

Solas smiled slightly and sighed, admiring the craftsmanship of her work.


	9. Stargazing

“Lethallan?” Solas questioned, finding her at the edge of camp. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Maybe.” Shiral shrugged from where she sat on the docks, the water below quiet and placid. “C’mere. I wanna show you somethin.”

He sighed quietly, shoulders slumping. It was late, and they could all do with some rest. However, she seemed intent on sharing something with him, and he could not quite muster irritation. Not with her, anyways. The mage quietly padded closer and sat beside her, legs crisscrossed much like hers. There was silence, for a time, besides crickets and a distant nightjar.

“The stars aren’t as bright since the Breach.” Shiral finally said. “I was looking for constellations. Ones my aunt told me about.”

“Your aunt?”

“She was the Keeper in our clan.” Shiral explained briefly. “This time of year, we’d be able to see Vhalla’lean. Most people call it ‘Andraste’s Candle.’”

“I presume it’s a part of one of the constellations?”

“My favorite one.” She pointed. “It’s at the center of the wolf’s brow. This constellation forms the face of the Dread Wolf.”

Solas arched a brow, his gaze turning from her to the sky as she pointed out the different stars.

“When we were children, Aunt Ellana would tell me and my cousin Loren that we had nothing to fear, because Ha’fen was always watching. Just like the statue at the edge of camp.”

He pondered this. The idea that his visage would give someone anything other than fear was, of course, foreign to him. Not unwelcome, but still strange.

“I always thought the position of his constellation was odd because there’s another one right above him.”

“And what is that?”

“A deer. Well… a doe. A red doe. Jumping over his head. I never understood that one, and it never had a story, but it was always there. The hunters in my clan thought that if they could see her and Ha’fen on a clear night, they’d have a safe journey to the hunting grounds come morning.”

“While I know the significance of halla to your people, what is the significance of the red hart? I assume something of importance.” Solas questioned, curiosity rearing its head.

“They’re smart. Loyal. But most of all… they’re never truly tamed.” Shiral explained. “They were a prominent symbol in my clan.”

He gazed at her, then. Her amber-gold eyes were focused up at the stars overhead as she sat hugging her knees. Part of Solas mused that she had just described herself, but chose not to say anything. She yawned quietly, muffling the sound against the back of her hand.

Solas stood and offered her a hand. “Come, lethallan. We should get some rest.”

Shiral allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Does what you do even count as ‘rest?’”

“Yes.”

\---------

Shiral was trying to practice venturing into the Fade.

Honestly, the place made her nervous. She was not certain why. Perhaps because it reacted and changed with her presence. Every step she took caused flowers and grass to spring up behind her. Touching the rocky walls she passed made flowering ivy creep along the stone.

“Hello.”

Tensing, she whipped around to face the direction of the voice. What she saw was a fear demon, its gangly form slinking through the shadows and coming out to circle her.

“I’ve not seen you before. You don’t feel like a mortal… What are you?”

“Um… Just a Dalish chick. No one special.” Shiral told it, confused by its words.

“I doubt that. You feel… odd, to me.” It leaned down, face hovering over hers and its moist breath smelling of wet, dead leaves. “I ask again. What are you? I’d like to know.”

“Still no idea what you mean.”

It hissed at her, but she was not scared. Uneasy, but not really afraid, wondering what it wanted.

“Away with you!” A voice commanded sharply.

Turning, Shiral was surprised to see Solas. The fear demon shrieked and backed away, soon turning to disappear into the shadows as the mage halted beside her. When it was gone, he relaxed, and gazed at her.

“Apologies. I expected to find you sooner.” He told her.

She shrugged. “No big deal.”

“You’ve never faced demons in the Fade, lethallan. The rules here are a bit different than you’re used to.”

“Same principle. Just say ‘no.’ … I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to run into you here.”

He chuckled quietly.

“Well, since I’m here, maybe you can show me some places you’ve seen?”

“Of course.”


	10. Facing the Beast

They had closed the Breach. Even so, Shiral was uneasy, gazing up at the sky while her comrades and all of Haven reveled in their newfound victory. The night air was tolerably lukewarm thanks to the bonfires being had.

Something felt off. There was a tense expectance in the air. A feeling that came before the great thunderstorms of the coasts, or the great walls of sand in the desert. There was something there and Shiral was missing it, much to her frustration.

“You seem troubled, da’len.” Solas noted as he moved to stand beside her, hands clasped behind himself.

“I guess I’m just… nervous. I keep thinking about the future you and Dorian saw. About what that envy demon made me see.” Shiral muttered, arms folded and hugging herself nervously.

“Anyone who saw such things should be afraid. It’s only natural. But you succeeded.”

“Where were the rest of the Red Templars and the Seekers, though? Where’d the rest of them go? Hiding somewhere? I doubt they just decided, ‘Oh, hey, she closed the hole in the sky. Maybe we should go on vacation.’”

“That’s an excellent question, lethallan. For now, you should at least enjoy the small bit of calm this victory has given us.”

“Small?”

Before he could answer, the sound of a horn blowing drew their attention, followed by their guards rushing the gates.

\--------- 

Trapped. Celebration cut short, Red Templars attacking, and now… nowhere left but the Chantry. They had saved as many as they could, they really did, but it was not enough. Then, the commander suggested an avalanche.

“That would bury the entire town and the Chantry with it.” Shiral said worriedly.

“There is… a secret passage.” Roderick said, gripping his side. “You would not know of it unless you took the summer pilgrimage, as I have.”

Glancing his way, Solas then returned his gaze to the commander. “Can you get everyone out that way? Move into the mountains to safety?”

“We can. I can send up a flare when were a safe distance away.” Cullen told him.

“Get everyone to safety. I’ll keep the enemy distracted as long as I can. They will be unlikely to ignore such a challenge.”

Concerned, Shiral stepped closer. “Lethallin, I should be the one facing him, not you!”

“They can’t lose you, da’len. You’re the only one who can seal the Rifts. If I must act as bait, then so be it.”

“No! You’ll get yourself killed!”

“Da’len. Go with them.” He told her firmly, a hand on her shoulder.

She bit her lower lip nervously, wanting to protest further, but nodded despite the beads of moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. The idea of him going out by himself frightened her. There was no divine protection for her, nothing to help if something went wrong when she fought, nor was there any such thing for Solas.

Leaving his comrades, Solas went out into the fray. With no comrades around him, he could easily unleash his full power, cutting a bloody swath through enemy ranks to get to the trebuchet and aim it. That was when the real threat appeared, a blast of magic tossing the elf across the field like a doll. Just as Solas figured out which way was up, a hand seized him by the wrist and hauled him into the air. That hand belonged to an unnaturally tall and clearly scarred figure, once a man, but now a Darkspawn.

“You come to protect the usurper who stole your power?” The figure sneered. “I would think you of all people would understand my plans, Dread Wolf.”

Solas clawed at the other’s wrist with his free hand, glaring. “I’ve seen your plans, and I saw what horror they wrought.”

“You believe I was the one who shattered the Veil in your vision of the future?”

He arched a brow at the insinuation.

The Elder One leaned a bit closer with a sneer of his own. “I seek to pass through it only, lest I have nothing left to rule. The future you saw was of your own work.”

Solas tensed, eyes widening in shock.

“Ask yourself, Fen’Harel. Who is the true villain of this tale? Pray that my plans succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.”

A shout escaped Solas as he was thrown against the trebuchet, landing hard, but blissfully close to the trigger. He got to his feet, watching the Elder One stalk towards him.

“The people shall know a new god. And his name shall be Corypheus.”

“Not as long as I have anything to say about it.” Solas grit out, breath fogging on the cold nighttime air. A glance to the horizon revealed a flare. “And I will end you.”

The elf covered his elbow with a spell of ice to shield it before slamming it into the switch of the trebuchet forcefully. A thunderous boom sounded as the avalanche began. The Elder One retreated with his False Archdemon, while Solas was forced to duck for cover into a mineshaft that had been blown open in the siege.

\--------- 

“We can’t stop now! We have to find him!” Shiral pulled her coat tighter round herself, the wind whipping it around her.

No one argued, though they were weary as they ascended the mountain pass. They had been searching for hours now, ever since the camp was secured.

She was crying. The wind was so cold that her tears turned to frost and stung her cheeks, clinging to her chin. How could she have let him go off by himself like that? Powerful though he was, he was only one man.

Snow crunched heavily beneath their feet as they moved, Shiral flanked by Bull and Blackwall. The three of them were heavily bundled up in the blizzard, but she worried for Solas. How badly was he hurt? The cold was a concern either way, as he had not been wearing many layers when the attack came. They had been unwinding.

That was when she saw it. The flicker of a flame held between hands as the mage tried to keep warm in the howling wind.

“Solas!” She ran towards him as fast as she could in knee-deep snow.

Shiral reached him just as he collapsed from cold and exhaustion, falling into her arms.

“Bull, hold him up so I can get my coat around him. Now.”

The Reaver only nodded, doing as she ordered.

“Blackwall, help me with him. Bull, you lead the way back to camp.”

“Right away.” The Warden replied, draping one of the mage’s arms over his shoulder while Shiral did the same on his other side.

\---------

“How is he?” Dorian questioned when Bull exited the tent.

“A lot better than I’d expect.” Bull admitted, sitting down on a bench. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

The Tevinter mage moved to sit beside him. “And Shiral?”

“She won’t leave him. Mages are helping him heal, and she made a salve for the bruises with some of the herbs she had in her pack. Good thing she forgot to drop them off.”

The two of them watched the others. Cassandra was pacing restlessly while Blackwall tried to reassure her in a quiet way with his presence, not certain what to say. Varric was sitting by one of the campfires, a grim expression on his face. Vivienne was helping tend the wounded. And the three advisors were, inevitably, bickering.

“You did good. Helping everyone evacuate.” Bull finally said, elbows resting on his knees. “Not many people can keep a level head during something like that.”

Dorian said nothing, staring blankly down at the snow.

“You okay?”

“Not really. But I don’t think any of us are.”

By the firelight, Blackwall finally sighed, turning to the Seeker. “You should rest, Cassandra. All of us need to.”

“How can I rest at a time like this?” Cassandra questioned, gazing to the tent where Solas was being tended. “I’m no healer. I know I would simply get in the way. But I want to help.”

“You could help bandage people.” He suggested. “Bull spent nearly two hours making rounds with the Chargers.”

She sighed.

“Come. Sit.” Blackwall guided her to a bedroll by the fire, his hand gentle on her shoulder.

Cassandra did not get a chance to sit down before Vivienne returned. Everyone paused and fell quiet, looking their way.

“He was battered, but Solas will be fine.” The Enchanter informed them. “He simply needs rest.”

“Where’s Angel?” Varric questioned.

“Shiral chose to stay with him.” She said, by now familiar with the nickname. “All we can do now is try to recover our strength and hope we weren’t followed.”

“I have my boys on watch.” Bull supplied. “We’ll know if anyone comes toward us.”

\---------

A groan welled in Solas’ throat. His entire form ached, but the ache was being dulled by something. An herbal balm of some kind that smelled of elfroot and lotus. Blankets were pulled over him, his shirt lying beside his head. Thankfully, his upper body was all that was bare.

“Fenedhis…” He muttered, wincing as he opened his eyes to see a tent over him.

Just when he tried to sit up, a slim, warm hand gently coaxed him back down. “Easy, lethallin. Get your bearings first.”

The mage groaned.

“Vivienne and some of the Circle Mages were able to heal you, but they said you’ll be sore. I made you a salve for it.”

“Ma serranas, lethallan.” Solas sighed, voice rough and throat feeling dry.

She frowned where she sat beside him on the ground, her legs crisscrossed. “I was worried we had lost you.”

“I’ve been in worse fights.” He assured her quietly.

“Try not to scare me like that again. I…” Shiral trailed off, gazing to the side, cheeks and ears flushed pink, and not due to cold.

“I’ll be fine, lethallan.” A sigh escaped him.

She laid out a bedroll beside him, one leg bent up and the other draped over it, her hands clasped over her slim middle. Shiral listened as Solas fell back asleep, his breaths evening out and a little, very soft snore leaving him.

She smiled. He was okay. They were okay. For now.

\--------- 

They started traveling, Solas stating he knew of an isolated and abandoned hold nearby from his explorations in the Fade. On the third night of moving, Solas was able to get away from those seeking to thank and praise him. It was a blessing, as all of the attention made him keenly uncomfortable.

“Lethallan, if I may have a moment.” Solas stated where he stood beside Shiral.

She nodded, following him to the edge of camp, where they could talk privately. Both of them were bundled up in the cold. Everyone was. Even Bull. They were all doing their best to keep warm, especially the refugees, lest they freeze to death.

“Is something wrong?” Shiral questioned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. But I wish to discuss something with you. The orb Corypheus carried… I believe it is Elvhen. I’m not certain how it came to be in his possession, but when the others learn of this, there will be repercussions.”

She sighed. “Humans would find a way to blame us, eventually.”

“I fear you may be right. And I’m glad you recognize this.”

“The orb… Is that what cause the explosion at the conclave?”

“It’s entirely possible.” Solas explained, picking his words carefully. “And if I am correct, its power has been dormant for thousands of years, waiting to be released. Such a sudden one could have indeed caused such damage, though it doesn’t explain the red lyrium.”

“Varric’s still working on that. But if it is of the People… I dunno. Maybe we can hide it? Keep it someplace safe so people leave us alone? We can try to get to it first when all this is done with.”

“I would appreciate the effort, but that could backfire. I’m afraid we will have to wait and see.”

She sighed heavily. “Where do we go from here?”

“There is a place. North of here, deep in the mountains. A stronghold awaiting to be found and claimed.” Solas informed her. “They will need a leader.”

“I don’t think I can…”

“You can, da’len. In some respects, it would be for the best that you lead rather than someone else.”


	11. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very brief masturbation scene towards the end...

After a morning filled with meetings and diplomacy, Shiral took the afternoon to talk to her comrades. Everyone was dealing with the destruction of Haven in their own way. Bull was making rounds and Dorian was going through tomes in the library. Vivienne was a little put off with the fact Shiral decided to keep Cole around, but the Enchanter let it go considering the Inquisitor’s judgement thus far had gone over well. Sera just needed someone to vent to, and Shiral obliged her.

Then, there was Solas. Shiral approached him as he worked at his desk, going through old tomes and continuing his research, now on other topics. Having grown up Dalish, Shiral knew Trade, but these books were in other languages, mainly very old ones she could not understand.

“Solas?” She stood beside the desk, arms folded nervously.

He marked his place with a ribbon bookmark and gazed up at her. “Yes, lethallan?”

“We’re heading out to the Emerald Graves in a couple days. Bull and Blackwall are coming, and I was wondering if you’d come with us.”

“Ma nuvenin.” He agreed. “Are you alright?”

“Not really. Tired, nervous, and…” She trailed off with a shrug. “Just uptight after what happened.”

“Understandably so.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me about the Fade? About your travels? If you have time, I’d like to hear more.”

“You continue to surprise me.” He stood and went to her. “Alright, let us talk. But preferably somewhere more interesting than this.”

\--------- 

His definition of ‘somewhere more interesting’ was the Fade itself. She was a Dreamer, so she knew how to get there, but before her mind could pull back, he had found her standing in the fog and took her hand, leading her through it by the hand until they make it to the other side.

“Haven?” Shiral questioned. “Why here?”

“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you.” Solas replied calmly, leading the way. 

“We already went over that.”

He led her into the Chantry and down to the dungeon. “I sat beside you as you slept. Studying the Anchor.”

“How long could that take?”

“A magical mark of unknown origin with connections to a massive tear in the Veil? Longer than one would think. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the fade, yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity, and threatened to have me executed as an apostate.”

“She’s like that with everyone.”

He laughed quietly. “Yes. I suppose she is.”

Shiral smirked, following him as he led her back outside to stand before the Chantry, gazing up at the Fade’s interpretation of the Breach.

“You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade. I was frustrated. Frightened. The spirits I may have consulted were driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“Where would you go? The Breach threatened the whole world.”

“Someplace far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before it reached me. I never said it was a good plan.” He moved toward the ledge and extended a hand. “I told myself, one more attempt to seal the Rifts.”

Shiral watched him turn towards her, and she walked closer to him.

“I tried, and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the Rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…”

Whether it was the Fade or just knowing him, part of her knew he was thinking of the moment when she closed the first Rift.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture, and in that moment, I felt the whole world change.”

“Felt the whole world change?” Shiral questioned quietly with a slight grin.

“A figure of speech.” Solas said, trying to play down the admiration he had expressed.

“I know. I’m more interested in ‘felt.’”

“You change… everything.” He confessed.

Shiral smirked, though her cheeks were flushed. “Sweet-talker.”

He gazed towards the image of the Breach again. She gazed at him, and in that impulsive instant, she pounced. Her hand cupped his face and she leaned up on tiptoes, kissing him. He was so surprised that he barely responded, gazing at her, but just as she grew uncertain and pulled away, he dove forward, reconnecting their mouths. Solas nipped at her lower lip and she opened to him, exploring his mouth just as eagerly as he explored hers, the taste of tea and honey mixing.

After a moment, he pulled away as if forced to. “We shouldn’t. Not even here.”

“Why not? It’s only a dream.” Shiral muttered, nuzzling his cheek.

“That is a matter for debate. Probably best discussed after you… Wake up.”

\--------- 

He had taken the coward’s way out. Solas knew this. He also knew she would come looking for an explanation as to just why he did it.

When she showed up the following afternoon, he was working on the frescos in the rotunda, sleeves rolled up and hands having dust and a few streaks of paint on them. For a moment, Shiral simply watched him, observing the careful brushstrokes and the look of peaceful concentration on his face. She was almost hesitant to interrupt him.

Shiral was still trying to figure him out. He was quiet and reserved, but she could tell there was a hidden passion. A conviction of sorts. Solas held strong beliefs and offered them as freely as he did advice – with a degree of tact and consideration before saying anything. She found herself drawn to him. In some ways, he was her exact opposite.

Honestly, Shiral knew she was loud-mouthed and many things she said were barely considered, just tumbling out of her mouth before properly thinking it over. She spoke from her heart. Solas, however… Solas was the picture of calculation. While the pauses he took were small, they were all he needed. He would properly gather his thoughts before speaking up.

“Solas.” She finally said when he lifted his brush to examine his progress.

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Lethallan. Sleep well?”

“Sort of.” Shiral gave a quiet little laugh, walking over to him. “I can’t say I’ve ever done that before. On multiple levels.”

A brief smirk tugged at his face before he frowned, setting aside the bowl of paint on the end-table beside him and wiping his hands on his dusty breeches. “I apologize. The kiss was ill-considered and impulsive, and I shouldn’t have encouraged it.”

“This coming from the one who started with tongue.” She snickered.

His face burned with how hard he blushed at that, across both cheeks up to the points of his ears. “I did no such thing.”

Shiral grinned. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“It’s been a long while. And things have always been… easier for me in the Fade.” Solas confessed, flush disappearing as he took a deep breath. “I’m not certain this is the best course of action. It could lead to trouble.”

“I like my ice thin. … I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.”

“I… Maybe, yes. If I could have some time to think. There are… considerations.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

\---------

Watching Shiral’s reaction to the forest of the Emerald Graves was... a beautiful thing to behold. Solas watched her as she gazed about like a wide-eyed child at the towering trees and lush growth. Harts of all sorts roamed the woods, not the slightest bit timid of the group, nor were the wolves or the strange black nugs.

They met with Fairbanks. His bargain was a simple one. If she got rid of the Freemen who had been harassing the residents, he would provide them with all the information he had. From what he hinted at, that was extensive.

Much of their day was spent traveling and fighting, the group making camp near a river. The three men bathed at the same time while Shiral and the three soldiers with them tended camp. After her comrades returned, she took her kit and went off to bathe by herself.

The Inquisitor was gone for some time. Solas was worried for her. She had always preferred to bathe elsewhere. To be alone for such things. Even so, there was a danger in doing such a thing here in the field. With Bull occupied by talking with Blackwall, Solas was easily able to slip away and head to the river nearby. What he saw was not what he expected.

Standing in the water up to her hips was Shiral, droplets of water glistening on fair skin, the gold strands in her hair shimmering lightly. On her skin…

Black ink fanned out in intricate patterns along her back, upper arms, and her thighs. Filigree, paisley, and henna, all ornate and beautiful like a living artwork. The ink was intermingled with a few thin scars here and there, sometimes breaking the pattern. Not noticing him, she turned to a leather kit she had set on a flat rock above the water, soaping up a washcloth and running it along her body. His eyes followed the suds trail across her bosom, down her flat belly and into the water that cut off the sight of her lower body.

Slim. Toned. Scarred. Tattooed. Beautiful.

Solas swallowed thickly, lingering in the shadows as he watched her. He needed to look away, but could not bring himself to, watching whipchord muscle and sinew flex beneath silky soft skin. Hair wet, nipples hard from the chill, dirt and blood sliding off her as if loath to grace her form. Dalish or not, she was beautiful, and he coveted her.

He bit his lower lip, swallowing the knot in his throat. Still unaware, Shiral ducked beneath the water, rinsing herself off. When she surfaced, droplets of water glittering across her form like fresh dew, Solas turned away, quickly but quietly walking away. He did not return to camp, however. He found a quiet, wild space nearby, where they others were not likely to find him.

Several deep breaths did nothing to calm him down, leaning with his back to a tree and to camp. Images fluttered through his mind, making his hands shake and cheeks heat up. Despite his efforts, his want pressed insistently against his breeches, and refused to go away. With a huff, he finally reached down, undoing the lacings of his pants just enough to fish himself out, swollen and dripping with his want for her.

Cursing under his breath, Solas quickly cast a grease-spell in one hand before bringing the other to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the heel of his palm just under his thumb.

He wanted her. To taste her skin. Hear her cries. Feel her beneath him crying his name as her nails raked down his back. His grip tightened, hand moving faster and twisting slightly near the base, the tip of one finger teasing the head.

His hand sufficiently muffled his cry when he came. It was not as satisfying as he would like, but it would do, the release of tension leaving him panting softly. Solas took several long moments to collect himself before cleaning up, fixing his clothes, and heading back. When he arrived back at camp, Shiral was already there, talking with the two warriors and discussing battle-tactics. He sat down by the fire, his companions none the wiser to his dilemma.

Solas knew he should not want her. Not because she was Dalish, but because… Shiral was so much younger than him. Twenty-three years old, but still a child, comparatively. Leader of the Inquisition. And if she knew of his identity…

Would she hate him for deceiving her? Would she fear him? If she knew of his duty, the obligation to his people, would she try to stop him?

His duty. What did that even mean? Was Corypheus correct? The shattered Veil was his doing? If he had missed an entire year… But Dorian had said the magic was unstable. The elf mage’s intent was to bring down the Veil, true. So had he followed his plan in the year he was absent? Was such destruction inevitable? His research thus far said so, but much of that was speculation.

Before, he had been certain of his plans. Now, he was anything but. And it frustrated him.

“Solas?”

Blinking, he looked over, seeing Shiral was watching him brooding.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, lethallan.”


	12. A New Path

“Solas, ma lethallin.” Wisdom greeted, sounding pleased as it took a vaguely elf-like shape in the halls of the memory that looked like a great library. “I’m pleased to see you. Yet… you look troubled.”

“I am, lethallen.” Solas sighed, glancing at what was once his library, in the times before the fall. “I need to ask you something. I spoke with Purpose, but they were… evasive.”

“I understand why. Purpose ever changes from day to day. Few things are set in stone.” Wisdom supplied. “Ask, and I will do my best to answer.”

“I spoke to you before; of the future I saw?”

“You did.”

“I need to know… is that what would truly happen? In my undoing of my mistakes… I would destroy her world?”

Wisdom tilted its head, gazing at him intensely for a long moment before sighing. “Yes, as well as the Fade itself. All would deteriorate and crumble. But you already knew that.”

Solas frowned, gazing off to the side.

“Why do you think Purpose was so evasive to that answer?”

He did not answer, though he gazed at the spirit again.

“Because you no longer know your purpose. My kin can only help you so long as you seek to help yourself. Purpose is indecisive because you are indecisive.”

“I understand.”

“But again, you knew this, da’len.” Wisdom mused, hands clasped in its lap. “Did you come here to validate yourself? Your motives?”

He let out a slow, heavy sigh. “Yes. I did.”

“Why is that? Is it the Inquisitor? This Dalish woman?”

Slowly, he paced from side to side. “I know it will hurt her, when she finds out. And I don’t expect her forgiveness.”

“She cares for you, da’len, and if you told her why you fought, she will understand.” Wisdom told him.

“And of my plans?”

“The outcome hasn’t changed them?”

Solas did not answer, coming to a halt, hands clenching into fists at his sides as his gaze fell to the floor.

“You saw what would happen. If the Veil falls, it would mean the death and destruction of everything, and everyone. Spirits, demons, people, and nar’asha.”

The statement made the knot in his throat tighten. Nar’asha. His woman.

“Look at all the positive things you have achieved, da’len. They outweigh the miscalculation. But if you continue this path… it will end everything, and you. Can you go on, knowing that? Would she approve and step aside? If she does not, could you force her aside for it? Even kill her?”

Finally, he managed a shaking breath and an equally shaking answer. “No.”

“Then find a new path, Fen’harel. Let her be your light.”

\--------- 

Solas found her out on her balcony, gazing upon the mountains and the keep. For a long moment, he did not say anything, allowing himself to watch her a moment. She was beautiful, hair seeming a darker red in the setting sun. Finally, he went to her.

“Inquisitor. Do you have a moment?” Solas inquired.

She looked over her shoulder at him. He looked troubled, but about what, she could not say. It was the same look he bore after he and Dorian stepped into the future. The same look he bore after facing Corypheus. He was brooding about something.

“Yeah. What do you need?” Shiral replied.

“I wished to know… has the Anchor changed you in any way? Your personality? Your morals? Your… spirit?”

“If it did, do you really think I’d have noticed?” Shiral gave a little grin.

He chuckled softly, her humor easing his worries a bit. “Point taken.” 

“Why?”

“Your actions have shown a wisdom I haven’t seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You’re not what I expected.”

There came a slight blush over her cheeks, but she smiled. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not disappointing, it’s…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Most people are predictable. You show a subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could have raised someone with a spirit like yours… have I misjudged them?”

This gave her a moment of pause before she sighed. “Not really.”

Solas’ brows furrowed in surprise.

“I was a special case. To put it plainly, my people are a lost flock. And I just didn’t fit in.”

“Then perhaps they can learn from your example.”

“Perhaps. So… What does this mean?”

“It means I still haven’t forgotten that kiss.”

Shiral smiled, moving closer to him. “Good.”

He was losing his nerve. He knew it, and she could see it. Nervous, timid, apprehensive. He made to turn away, but she caught his arm gently.

“You don’t have to go.”

Solas did not seem convinced, slowly turning to face her. “It would be kinder in the long-run.”

“We can go your pace, Solas. It doesn’t bother me.” Shiral laced fingers with him.

He sighed, about to object, only for Wisdom’s words to echo in his mind. This was it. His choice. “Losing you would…”

She did not know what to expect. Him being the one to kiss her was not one of them. It was softer than the previous one. Unhurried. She leaned into him, rising up on tip-toes so he did not have to lean so far. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, and sighing when he felt her arms wrap around his shoulders. Finally, he parted the kiss.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” He told her, cupping her face in hand and brushing the pad of his thumb across her cheek.

“I love you, too.” A smile came across her features. “Stay…?”

Solas nodded and nuzzled her brow.

\---------

When morning came, Shiral came around first. It did not surprise her, considering he was off in the Fade. She made a mental note to practice so she could eventually get better at it herself, and maybe venture with him if he allowed it.

The curtains, silk that they were, allowed in some light but not too much. It allowed her to gaze at him. He looked calm. Serene. Especially compared to how he looked when awake and working. Carefully, Shiral shuffled closer and pressed feather-light kisses to his cheeks, noting the numerous freckles and the soft lines that said he had laughed a lot, once. Maybe she could make him laugh again. With a sigh, she nestled her head beneath his chin, the two of them pressed chest-to-chest, one of his arms around her and the other beneath her head while one of her arms rested pinned between them, the other draped over his side.

For the most part, he was quiet as he slept. There was a very gentle, very soft snore, but she did not mind it. If anything, she found it cute. It made him seem more… real. More human. And she had no room to talk considering she tended to mutter in her sleep. Or, so Varric and Dorian claimed.

His breaths were calm and even, as was his heartbeat as she listened closely. Absently, but gently, she ran the backs of her fingers over the cotton tunic he wore. They had not had sex, and that had not been the intention of her invitation. She just wanted him close. It felt odd to be loved. Cared for. Perhaps it felt strange to him as well. 

“Ar lath ma.” She whispered. “Ma sa’lath.”


	13. From the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is FANTASY! You should NEVER approach a wild animal, especially if it’s injured. You should NEVER take a wild animal’s eggs, either. Call animal control or park rangers. That’s their job. And if they wanna kill it, ask for a second opinion if necessary.

Shiral knew there were cold-weather phoenixes. Well… in a way. Dennet said some – very few – folks used them as mounts. They were fast and agile, even with armor, and could adapt to nearly any environment, even snowy mountains. Most people, however, despised the brutes. He personally thought they were extinct for every place except the desert.

And, as usual, Shiral had a habit of proving people wrong.

They were in the Hinterlands, the morning still cold from night and dew. After sealing another rift and killing off the demons, Shiral spied something glinting not too far off.

“It could be a trap.” Bull suggested.

“From who? We killed all the bandits, by now.” She replied, leading the way off into the Witchwood. “And the Templars, and the mages. It could be something cool.”

The something was nestled in a hollowed-out log. However, what they saw outside it was what immediately drew their attention. There was a phoenix lying dead in the grass. Likely killed by demons. From the moss, brush, dry grass, and sticks…

Shiral knelt beside the log. “This is probably an egg. Dennet said Phoenix eggs are shiny to keep from getting too hot…”

“And we would want one of those foul things because…?” Vivienne drawled.

She cast the enchanter a brief glare even as she reached inside. “I’m not gonna leave the poor things to freeze.”

“Why not?

“Why?”

Vivienne rolled her eyes at the response.

“There’s only one.” Shiral gingerly reached her other hand inside and pulled it back.

It was nearly as big as her head. Almost. Quickly, Shiral removed her jacket and wrapped it protectively around the egg, using the sleeves to make a sling. She pulled it on carefully, and while confident in her skills with tying knots, she was not confident enough to let the egg hang free. Instead, she rested her hand on either side of the sling, guarding against the egg falling out and to hold it steady as she walked.

“Let’s go. We’ve pretty much wrapped things up here, anyways.” Shiral shrugged.

Bull smirked as they followed her back towards camp. “You’re totally gonna ride that thing, aren’t you.”

“Of course.” A quiet laugh left her. “Once its old enough.”

“Vhenan, are you certain this is a wise decision?” Solas questioned.

“Yep.”

\---------

Knocking at the door to her quarters drew her attention. Shiral paused, glancing from her paperwork to the stairwell.

“It’s unlocked! Come in!” She called, loud enough to be heard.

The door sounded, followed by quiet footsteps up the stairs and a pause. Solas was uncertain what to think, but could not bring himself to look away. Shiral was sitting on her knees, wearing a warm pair of pajama breeches with a baggy knitted nightshirt, the sleeves pushed up her arms and the phoenix egg resting between her thighs with a little blanket wadded up against the front of it.

“Oh. Hey, Solas.” Shiral greeted, happily dropping her paperwork. “Whaddya need?”

“I wanted to thank you for investigating the artifact I spoke of.” Solas replied tactfully. “I did not get the chance to with the First Enchanter present.”

“Sure. Anything I can do to help.” She nodded to the sofa. “Feel free to join me. I’m not that busy.”

“This coming from a woman who is surrounded by paperwork.”

She shrugged. “I wanted something to do and it needs to be done. And I’m keepin this thing warm at the same time. Dennet says it has a couple weeks left from the weight of it.”

Solas chuckled quietly. “Do you have enough paperwork for two weeks?”

“I could borrow some of yours.”

A chuckle left him.

“I was trying to think of a good name for it. Any ideas?” She questioned, folding her arms and peering down at the egg.

“Hanin would be fitting, I believe. ‘Glory.’”

“Hanin. Heh. I like it.” Shiral smirked. “Dennet’s already working on riding gear for it. Said I’m responsible for training it, though. Something about it imprinting on me.”

\---------

Two weeks later to the day, and Shiral had everything set up. The egg was still alive and well – she had Solas check for her since Vivienne absolutely refused and everyone else was busy. Apparently, magic was good for a lot of things.

The Inquisitor gathered up some blankets and such, laying them on her bed and lowering the shroud around the Orlesian bed that the posts supported. She made something of a nest, at the head of the bed in the rounded, padded alcove and waited. She fell asleep for a time, only to be awakened by a crackling sound, and a very soft chirping sound.

Instantly, she rushed downstairs and managed to catch a servant tidying up. “Hey, I need you to bring some ground meat up to my chambers.”

“Er… Raw, ma’am?”

“Yeah. The phoenix egg I found is hatching. Just leave it at the top of the stairs and close the door behind you.” Shiral told him.

The man nodded, bewildered. “Yes, ma’am.”

Quickly, she darted back upstairs and slid into bed. She lay on her belly in front of the egg, watching with wide eyes as a crack skittered out from the area facing her. The servant soon arrived, Shiral peeking out to take the plate before the man went back downstairs. She made sure the curtain was firmly closed, remembering Dennet said phoenixes would be more comfortable in an enclosed nest, even a big bed like hers.

A soft chirp came from within. Shiral watched with wide eyes as more fissures formed, her rooms filled with a soft crackling sound and little, tiny cries.

“C’mon… you can do it…” She said encouragingly, using a soft puppy-voice. “Just a little more. C’mon.”

More chirps came in response. As if encouraged by her, the chick pressed a bit harder, managing to punch a hole through the shell. A tiny, clawed hand emerged, followed by another, and a feathered head. Pieces of shell fell away as the egg fell to the side, the phoenix chick warbling and growling in frustration.

“That’s it… That’s it…”

As it kicked some of the lingering shell away, it gazed at her. One eye was amber, the other a ghostly blue. Shiral smiled softly, gently brushing the pad of her fingers over the top of its head.

It did not take long for the hatchling to push the rest of its shell away, nor did it take much time for its downy fluff to dry. Shiral took one of her shirts – worn the day before, so it had her scent – and made a smaller nest, moving the small creature into it and gently feeding it little bits of meat.

“This is going to be quite the adventure…”


	14. Meeting the Valo-Kas

“Inquisitor,” Josephine quickly approached the elf just as she left the smithy, “you have visitors. The Valo-Kas mercenary company.”

“What?! Where?!” Shiral questioned excitedly. 

“Out in the courtyard.”

Squealing happily, the elf ran past her out to the yard, taking the stairs two at a time and rushing towards them. The leader of the group saw her and let out a bellow of a laugh as the little elf jumped up into her arms like an excited child.

“Shok! I’m so happy to see you!” Shiral cried, hugging round the Vashoth mage’s shoulders.

“We missed you, too, runt!” Shokrakar laughed, hugging her with one arm before setting the elf down and ruffling her hair.

“Did you bring everyone?” She questioned, gazing at the others.

“Hissra, Sata, and Meraad stayed behind to hold the fort. They wanted to come, though. We can’t stay long, but we figured we’d stop by on our way to Denerim.”

“I’m just so glad to see you again. And I’m glad you’re all okay. Come on! I want to show you around!”

\---------

Needless to say, the sudden arrival of Qunari mercenaries was a surprise to everyone. People were accommodating, mind. All it took was a hard, borderline murderous look from Shiral – the same look she gave people caught using racial slurs – to fix any would-be problems.

Bull kept his distance, which was understandable, until Dorian happened along and clarified these were Vashoth, meaning born outside the Qun. After that, he was fine, and allowed himself some time to spar with Krem while Dorian watched. Coincidentally, just as the Inquisitor showed off the Sparring Yard just outside the apothecary.

“Guys, these are a few of my companions. Iron Bull, Krem, and Dorian.” Shiral said.

“Impressive fighting. You’ve got a good swing on your blind side.” The mercenary captain stated.

Bull nodded to her. She was about his height, maybe an inch or two shy, with her snowy hair pulled back into an Orlesian braid. She was wearing a traditional Antaam-Saar, but with a knee-length gown rather than a cropped shirt. Both her horns were swept back, almost like a halla’s. The one beside her was just as tall, silver hair bound in a pony-tail and horns curved to either side of his face. He was garbed in a blue and grey Shokra-Taar. Following them were four others that were a little non-descript, including a twiggy teenaged rogue.

“Guys, this is Shokrakar, Taarlok, Sata, Kaariss, and Katoh. Members of the Valo-Kas.”

\---------

If there was one thing about a lack of clan, Solas figured he would not likely have to meet any family regarding his lover. However, he was naturally mistaken.

Shiral had spoken of the Valo-Kas. The closest thing to a family that she had in the years after her escape from Kirkwall.

When Solas strode out into the main hall to seek out Dorian and his professional opinion, he froze up like a wolf caught eyeing the halla. In a way, he supposed that was accurate. Shiral was showing her former comrades the main hall and the tapestries. The décor was all a conglomeration of Inquisition, and little influences from varied cultures. Vashoth included. She wanted everyone to feel welcome when visiting.

“Oh! Guys, this is Solas.” Shiral said excitedly, moving to her fellow elf.

“Anderan atish’an.” Solas greeted.

“Shanedan.” Shokrakar replied, though gruffly. “This is the guy you’re all smushy about in your letters? Looks ten years older than you.”

“Shok!” Shiral hissed, cheeks going red.

“Kadan, she cares for him.” Taarlok reasoned to his wife. “Let that be enough.”

Shokrakar grunted. “I suppose she could do worse.”

The conversation was dropped. Shiral only showed them a few more things before it grew late. She showed them the guest quarters in the tower, beneath Cullen’s office, and allowed them to stay for the night. They were just passing through, and it meant a short stay before they moved on.

“Solas?” Shiral said quietly, finding him in the rotunda as he gathered some books and prepared to go to his quarters for the night.

“Yes, vhenan?” He replied, gazing at her.

She was hugging herself loosely, appearing tired and troubled.

“Shiral? Are you well?”

“Not really.” Shiral sighed. “Can I stay with you, tonight?”

His expression softened and he nodded. “Ma nuvenin, lath.” 

\---------

Before, Shiral had never been in his rooms. Much like his workspace, there was a cozy, orderly sort of chaos to it. His bed was sizable and of Orlesian make. On top of it, there was a sort of nest of pilfered blankets and covers. The whole room smelt pleasantly of him. Of herbs, clean forest air, and books. It felt like home, and she had no real concern for Hanin since phoenix chicks were used to being alone for a day or two at a time, and she had fed him that morn.

For a while, it was just silence. She lay on her front on one side of his bed while he was beside her with a book in his lap. Finally, he set it aside on the nightstand and looked to her.

“Are you troubled, vhenan?” Solas asked softly, shuffling to lay beside her, leaning on his elbow.

Shiral sighed, absently running her fingers over the soft quilt laid under them. “I was… so excited for them to finally meet you.”

“I imagine her disposition is common to all sisters and mothers. She just wants to protect you.”

“I don’t need to be protected from you, ma’lath.”

Some disjointed part of his mind begged to differ, but he did not voice it. “Perhaps tomorrow, she’ll be in a better mood.”

“Normal people would be in a better mood. Shok kinda stews. Or ferments. Whichever.”

“Stews.” He chuckled, correcting her gently.

Shiral sighed and turned to him, snuggling into his chest. “I’m sorry. I was hoping… I dunno. Maybe it’d be happy and slightly awkward instead of…”

“There’s still hope for that, ma’lath.” Solas informed her.

A sigh parted her lips before she dared to ask. “Does it bother you? Our age difference?”

“At first, it did. But I’ve grown accustomed to it. Why? Does it trouble you?”

“Not really. I mean… I like it. So…” She blushed and hid her face against his shoulder. “Shut up, you dork. Yes. I like it.”

He chuckled quietly and did not prod further. Instead, he kissed the top of her head, hand running along her back.

\--------- 

Over the course of two days, the Valo-Kas made a few friends, namely the Chargers. Shokrakar and Bull ended up sparring several times while Kaariss made fast friends with the tavern’s resident bard. Taarlok shared some research interests with Dorian, the two getting along surprisingly well.

Naturally, Shokrakar was taking the opportunity to watch Solas. Usually in passing, of course. Anytime he and Shiral were in the same room, the older elf was smiling and happy, the two sweet-talking or flirting. Blushing, puppy-eyes, schmoosing, discussing the Fade and ancient elves… It was so sweet that Shokrakar almost found it nauseating.

On the third day, Shiral was spending some time with the Valo-Kas in the dining hall for breakfast before Josephine called her off to address something. Solas had been sitting with her, but now, his distracted lover had left him with Shokrakar across from him.

He said nothing, eating quietly.

“She’s really into you.” Shokrakar finally said, sipping at her tea. “It’s about time she found someone. Especially someone who makes her happy.”

Solas’ mind skidded to a halt and he looked up at her in shock. 

“I haven’t seen her smile this much in a long time.”

He was not certain what to say. “I’m glad I was able to help her, then.”

“Mm. Make sure it stays that way. You break her heart, I’ll break your neck.”

Taarlok gave his wife a stern, somewhat disappointed look.

“What?”

“You’re hopeless, kadan.” Taarlok sighed.

\---------

Shiral could not quite place just why Shokrakar and Solas were suddenly getting along well. But she did not question it, either. Solas was glad his lover had such a supportive if not bizarre family, and was glad to know he had some positive effect on her.

The Valo-Kas departed on the third day, Shiral promising to keep writing and Shokrakar reminding her to ‘watch your narrow ass.’ Only when they were gone did Shiral finally venture to ask Solas just what had happened when she left the table.

“She said she was glad to see you happy.” Solas informed her. “She also threatened to kill me if I hurt you.”

Shiral gave a breathy laugh and a little grin. “Yeah. That sounds like her.”


	15. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little chapter. Some fluff, I guess.

“Solas?”

He looked up from the books splayed before him. The rotunda was mostly empty thanks to the pleasant weather outside, most taking advantage of the gardens today, leaving him blissfully alone. But he would never view Shiral’s presence as anything but pleasant. His surprise at seeing her was quickly turned into worry when he saw the wadded-up towel around her right hand. Said towel was stained and smudged with red.

“What happened?!” Solas quickly stood and went to her, moving to sit her down on the sofa.

“Relax. It was just a mishap in the forge.” Shiral explained, surprised. “I was on my way to the apothecary and almost forgot to remind you we’re heading out tomorrow.”

He frowned at her, the look stern but edged with concern. “You should have gone straight there.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Carefully, he peeled away the towel and saw a somewhat deep slash along her right palm from below the index finger diagonal down the to heel of her palm. Sighing, he let his magic flow over the wound, soothing and healing it.

“What were you doing?” Solas questioned, sitting down beside her.

“I was filing the edge of a sword and the file broke off. My hand landed right on the blade.” Shiral told him, not really fazed. “So, do you wanna come with us to Crestwood?”

“I’ll be glad to accompany you, so long as you’re more careful that you were some minutes ago.”

She laughed quietly. “Please. I’ve gotten worse cuts trying to clean fish. It’s no big deal.”

The look he shot her was one of exasperation.

“Fine. I promise to be careful.” The rogue gave him a quick kiss.

While he did not seem convinced, he pulled his hand away, revealing a newly-healed hand that looked as if it had not been injured in the first place. Solas’ gaze trailed to her left hand, where the Anchor flickered slightly.

“Is the mark bothering you?” He asked quietly.

“Hm?” Shiral glanced down at it before shaking her head. “No. It usually lights up when I get excited, like when we’re getting ready for a trip.”

“May I see it?”

She nodded, letting him see her hand. Solas gently pushed her sleeve up and undid her glove, pulling it away. The mark was not spreading, which was good. It was only reaching up to her wrist, also good since he had predicted it would be at her elbow by now.

“Is it okay?” Shiral asked.

“Yes. Everything’s fine, comparatively.” He sighed, gently buckling her glove back up and setting her hand in her lap. “I’ll be ready to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Thank’s, ma’lath.”

It made him pause. He was not used to being called such a thing, and it took a second for it to register before he smiled and kissed her softly.


	16. Enchanter and Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something else short. (I have an AU in my head where my Hawke romanced Orsino and kept him from losing his shit at the end. So here.)

Following Varric up onto the battlements now that their help had finally arrived, Shiral was surprised to see two figures waiting for them. One, she recognized, and smiled warmly upon seeing him.

“Ah. Lavellan. I’m glad to see you’re no worse for wear.” Orsino bowed his head briefly. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You as well, Orsino.” Shiral agreed, returning the bow and then gazing at his companion. A human woman in mage-armor. “And you must be Katarina Hawke. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, though I wish it was on better circumstances.” Kat replied, nodding to her.

“So… Varric tells me you’ve dealt with Corypheus before.”

“Not just dealt with. Killed. And somehow, he’s back.” She sighed, folding her arms. “I’ve been discussing the matter with a friend of mine, in the Wardens. He has a few theories, and he can probably explain why all the Wardens are going missing.”

“Where is he?”

“He told me to meet him in a cave in Crestwood.” Kat supplied. “I gave a map to Varric for safekeeping.”

“Alright.” Shiral nodded. “You two are free to stay as long as you need or want.”

“You’re too kind.” Orsino smiled softly. “But we don’t intend to stay more than a night or two.”

Kat nodded. “We’re probably safer that way. Maybe after this mess we’ll come back for a celebratory drink, yeah?”

Shiral smirked. “Definitely.”

\---------

“Breathtaking, ain’t it?”

Orsino was drawn from his thoughts by his wife’s voice, turning where he stood on the battlements overlooking the mountain passes. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the snowy mountainsides. In this light, she was beautiful, but Orsino presumed this was bias on his part. He thought she was beautiful in any lighting. Smirking, Kat strode closer to him.

“Yes. It is.” He agreed, wrapping an arm around her once she was close enough, letting one hand rest on her hip as the other rested on the stone wall before them.

A quiet sigh left her as she rested her head back on his shoulder. Even after more than a year being free – on the run, but free nonetheless – Orsino was still awed by all the things he was now able to see. Skyhold was no exception to this rule. It was magnificent.

“Does it feel odd?” Orsino questioned.

“Hm?” Hawke looked up at him.

“Knowing the war is over and we no longer have to hide.”

“A bit. I was… thinking. About stuff. And things.”

He laughed under his breath. “Such as?”

“Going back to Kirkwall. To my house. Our house.” Hawke paused a moment. “Maybe having a kid or two…?”

His cheeks flushed but he smiled. She was never a subtle woman, and he loved her for it, kissing her temple lightly. “That sounds perfect, love.”


	17. Of Fear and Love

After the incident at the Western Approach, Shiral had welcomed Loghain to Skyhold. She didn't like it, of course. She had met many a refugee from Ferelden whom had fled the Slavers he had embraced as comrades and sold many elves to, from the alienage.

When they marched on Adamant, Shiral came heavy with troops and her best. Solas, Blackwall, and Bull. And getting sucked into the Fade was not something any of them expected or bargained for.

“We’re…” Solas trailed off, torn between anxiety and excitement.

“In the Fade.” Hawke muttered, eyes wide in shock.

Shiral gazed about them. “This looks familiar.”

At this, Solas moved to stand beside her. “Have you seen this place before? While Dreaming?”

“I don’t know.” She strode to the crest of the hill before them.

A jagged, broken landscape. Water everywhere, a green sky that sickly mimicked the Breach. Shiral did not like it, but somehow, it was familiar to her.

“Are we dead?” Hawke muttered as she gazed around them.

“No. We’re not. And we’re probably not alone.” Shiral told her fellows. “If there’s another rift nearby, we could get out that way.”

“And if there isn’t?” Loghain questioned worriedly.

“Then I’ll rip a new one open myself.” With that, she began the march forward.

Her determination kept them going, whether she knew it or not. Solas was in awe of her, so easily taking command instead of asking for cooperation. Likewise, he was unnerved. Afraid. Ready to step in to defend her if any demon dare try to possess her. Bull was jumpy as hell, but seeing the Inquisitor suddenly stern as steel did it for him. Kept him focused. They had a job to do. In a way, her sudden demeanor reminded Loghain of Loren. Gave him a measure of hope to see his lover again. Blackwall was tense, but hid it well enough, walking alongside Hawke.

They encountered the spirit impersonating the Divine, who helped Shiral find her memories. But just after this, as they traversed the Fade, the Nightmare demon’s haunting voice made itself known.

* “What’s this?” It crooned. “Some silly little girl coming to retrieve the burden I rid her of? Dahn’direlan’asha.”

“That’s the best insult an ancient demon can come up with?” Shiral inquired dryly, smirking. “Ooh, I’m positively shaking.”

* “Da’harellan. Da har’mien’elan. Da dala’elan.”

“Whatever.”

There came a chuckle that met her defiance, a shiver running down her spine. When they fought the demons, each saw something different. Shiral saw Templars. Hawke saw spiders, while Blackwall saw former comrades and Loghain saw Darkspawn. Bull did not speak of what foes he saw, but it clearly troubled him.

Between waves of enemies, it turned on her companions, as well as Hawke and Loghain. They were able to brush it away for the most part. Until they were making their way across a marsh-like area and came to what looked like an ancient Elvhen headstone beside a broken Eluvian, and the peeling parts of a fresco visible. Faded, but clearly mirroring Solas’ art style.

“You’ll die alone, Fen’harel.”

Hawke halted, recognizing the name because of the lore Merrill had told her. The rest of the group halted, but Solas was the last to come to a stop, not looking at them. Color had drained from his face, and Nightmare continued.

“Do you really believe the world will forgive you? That nar’asha will forgive you? Your doings? Your plans?”

Shiral stared at him. Solas gave no answer to the demon, standing silently.

“Traitor.”

Defiantly, Shiral stepped forward. He nearly jumped when she took his hand, but allowed her to lace fingers with him. Solas gazed at her, but he did not see disgust, nor fear. He saw compassion. Love. Shiral gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and a soft smile, letting him know she was there for him.

Hawke was not so easily swayed, opening her mouth to speak, only to grunt when Bull elbowed her harshly and shook his head. So, she went quiet. Now was not the time.

\--------- 

Of course a demon would cheat.

Its minions swarmed the grotto in the midst of the battle, separating them and trying to get under their skin. Shiral shouted to her comrades, encouraging them, emboldening them, reminding them their friends waited on the other side of the rift. Then, the minions herded her away. Fighting with daggers, she tried to hold her ground, but was still separated from her comrades.

When Solas turned towards her, he saw her further away than just a few seconds ago. His eyes widened in horror as Nightmare grabbed her by the throat and hoisted her into the air. Instantly, he flung lightning at the demons around him, pushing towards his lover frantically.

“Do you truly think he loves you, girl? He will choose his self-loathing, his perceived duty, before he ever chooses you. He will destroy you, and your world with you. You are nothing to him.”

Shiral coughed and sputtered, holding the demon’s bony wrist and snarling as she kicked him beneath the chin. Nightmare hissed and flung her. The woman grunted weakly as her back collided with a stone pillar, her vision hazy as she slid limply to the ground.

“Shiral!” Solas shouted in alarm.

She did not move.

Something inside him snapped. The demons in the grotto scattered with alarmed shrieks as a boom sounded, a blinding flash of light driving them into dark corners. Their comrades had to shield their eyes, but when they next looked, they saw a great, black wolf with six red eyes leap at Nightmare, snarling viciously to bare razor-sharp fangs, tail tucked low and bristling.

Nightmare then felt fear. Slowly, he backed away, baring his fangs with a deep hiss.

He tore the demon’s throat out, ignoring the scratches its claws left along his shoulders and scruff, barely making it through the wolf’s pelt. The body slumped to the ground weakly, greenish blood oozing out onto the stonework before evaporating away. Then, the wolf turned toward Shiral.

Hawke nearly rushed to the woman, still having the old tales in her mind, but both Loghain and Bull grabbed her by the shoulders, keeping her from making a possibly fatal mistake.

Solas ignored them, ears pinned and tail tucked as he strode to the small woman lying on the ground. He could easily crush her with a single paw, as he was larger than a warhorse. But oh so gently, he nuzzled her, lapping at her face with a low whine.

It felt like an eternity before she moved, eyes fluttering open. When she saw him, she did not so much as flinch. Instead, she raised a hand to rest on the wolf’s muzzle, slowly sat up, and hugged him. Ruby eyes watched her carefully a moment before another burst of light and whirl of mist came. When it cleared, he was standing before her, holding out his hand. Shiral ignored it, instead leaping up into his arms and hugging him.

* “Ma serannas, ma sa’lath.” Shiral murmured, kissing his neck.

* “Ma nuvenin, ma vhenan.” Solas told her, gently holding her to him before picking her up princess-style since she could barely stand.

Without being asked to, Bull picked up the mage’s staff and Blackwall grabbed the rogue’s daggers. The group followed them out through the Fade, back to safety, before she closed it behind them.

\---------

Shiral was kind to the Wardens. Kinder than Hawke herself would be. For their safety, she asked them to keep their distance and remain vigilant against the Blight. To work as allies. She asked that they take courage in the days to come, and remember the sacrifice Clarel had made. Blackwall and Loghain remained as agents of the Inquisition, while the rest departed to recuperate.

Everyone was happy to be reunited. As soon as he was able, Bull hefted Dorian over his shoulder like a sack of flour and made for the nearest secluded spot. Orsino had apparently arrived to the battle with Cullen and the main force. He was quick to sweep Hawke up in his arms, holding his wife closely, the pair crying in relief at having been reunited against all odds. Solas and Shiral found a quiet place where he healed her wounds, though she would still be sore. She thanked him, and kissed him with her arms around him, nuzzling her face against his throat.

Then came the meeting. Solas remained, ready to bear their questions, and do what he – in his mind – should have had the courage to do before.

“So… You’re Fen’harel? The Dread Wolf?” Hawke questioned warily as she stood in the fort’s war-room among the others, holding her lover’s arm.

“I am.” Solas answered before continuing. “I warred against my own people to stop the tyranny of false gods. When they killed Mythal, my mentor and closest ally, I created the Veil to seal them away.”

“And what was Nightmare speaking of? Your plans?”

“Plans that changed when Alexius gave me a glimpse into the future. I will do all I can to help. That hasn’t changed.”

“What of the orb Corypheus carries?”

“It was lost to me when I entered Uth'then'era ages previous. I presume he somehow found it, because when I awoke a year ago, it was no longer with me. I was vaguely able to sense its location, which drew me to Haven. Then the Conclave was destroyed.”

Shiral moved her hand to hold his, giving Hawke a look somewhere between anger and pleading. “Solas is a good man. And I will stand by him. I don’t need your approval.”

“I know. This is just… a lot to swallow.”

Taking a deep breath, Cullen let it out slowly. “This revelation makes your insight and assistance all the more valuable. But I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“I know.” Solas replied, nodding.

“I will need to speak with the others, but you’re a good man. That much I can vouch for.”

“He’s not going anywhere.” Bull said, resting a broad hand on the Elvhen mage’s shoulder.

“Exactly.” Dorian affirmed.

Shiral nodded as well.

\---------

“Solas?”

Even with the chilled nighttime air of the desert whipping about them, he heard her voice. As if his body were heeding her on its own, he halted, but could not bear to turn and gaze at her. He sighed, and hung his head, throat feeling tight.

“Where are you going?”

“A safe distance away, ma’vhenan.” Solas said quietly. “My presence here is a danger to you, now. And I’m not likely to be welcomed.”

“What are you talking about?” Shiral moved to stand in front of him, holding a cloak tight about her shoulders. “Since when does the Dread Wolf run from anything?”

Her jest missed its mark, however kind her intent was. “It’s all I’ve ever done.”

She frowned, expression softening. “Solas… Fen’harel…”

His breath caught, hearing his name roll off her tongue with such a softness as he has never heard.

“Please. Stay with me. I need your help. We all do. No one here would send you away.”

“You know what I intended. What I planned. What I’ve done before.” Solas muttered. “Why would they not? Why would you not?”

“Because you saw the future. A glimpse of it. And you turned away from that path. I don’t quite understand what’s going on. I never have. But I know you. You’re a good man. Better than Nightmare could ever hope to tarnish, or Envy could ever dream of being.”

Solas gazed away, lips pursed firmly. Then, he felt her hand cup his face, the thumb brushing over his cheek. “I killed… everyone. I destroyed everything. You should hate me. And if not slay me, then send me away.”

A look of surprise came over her features before it softened into a mix of love and pity. She hugged him tightly, letting him feel her very real, very warm presence. He feels tears sting his eyes, his arms finally coming up to encircle her in return, holding her close as if afraid she would just disappear.

* “Ar nuvenin’ne, emma’fen. Ar lath ma. Var lath vir suledin.” She said before leaning up on tiptoes to kiss him.

It was brief before he pulled back with a frown. “But the others – ”

“Screw them. You’ve been a good ally and close friend to everyone. If they can’t accept you, then they can leave.”

“You’re being rash, da’len.”

“It’s kinda what I’m known for, hahren.” Shiral said before kissing him again.

After a moment, he kissed back, arms gently wrapping around her slim, bruised form. It was much more chaste compared to their previous kisses, but out in the open such as this under the starlight, it was a better option. When it parts, he rests his chin upon her head, feeling her nuzzle her face into his throat.

They stood like that for a while, until he felt her shiver and pulled away. “We should get you back inside, vhenan.”

“Will you stay?” Shiral asked him.

* “As long as you’ll have me. Ar dirtha'vhen'an.”

She let out a happy little sound, allowing him to lead her back through the fort to the guest quarters serving as her room while everyone else was camped out in tents. Before he could turn away, she tugged his hand, giving him a warm but wanting look.

* “Ar’isala’ne.” She told him.

“But your injuries…” Solas trailed off, gazing at her uncertainly.

“Just a few bumps and scrapes, mostly healed thanks to you. Please...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations...
> 
> * Idiot woman/ girl.  
> * Little traitor. Little murderer. Little destroyer.  
> * Thank you, my one love.  
> * As you wish/ you’re welcome, my heart.  
> * I need you, my wolf. I love you. Our love will preserve/ last. (?)  
> * I promise/ swear.  
> * I desire you sexually.


	18. Hearts Entwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SEX AHOY!!! It's vanilla and kinda short. I'm trying to focus more on the plot than the sex, for now. IDK. I might fluff it more, later.

Between her forgiveness and her refusal to send him away, her confessions of love and want, Solas’ will to refuse crumbled. He strode into her quarters, closing the door behind himself with one hand as the other caressed her hip. Solas closed the distance between them and kissed her. What started off as a gentle thing devolved into dancing tongues and nipping teeth, both of them desperate after skirting around the idea of intimacy, and then nearly dying.

His hands pushed away Shiral’s cloak, the swath of material pooling on the floor. She panted softly as she broke the kiss to nip at his neck and jaw, but her hands remained resting on his chest. The rogue was worried about pressing her luck. Worried he would just get up and leave if she pressed too hard, her fingers drawing little patterns into the material of his robes. It was a realization that made his heart ache. He would mend what he had almost broken if it was the last thing he ever did.

“Patience, vhenan.” He said quietly as he backed her up to the bed, coaxing her down into its softness and kneeling between her legs. “I want to take my time with you.”

Shiral blushed, the woman slightly surprised by the sentiment.

Gentle kisses and soft words were pressed to her neck and collarbones as his hands pushed up her sweater and found nothing underneath it. The feeling of soft skin beneath his hands made him pause, Solas pulling back to look at her, wanting to be certain she wished to continue. It was an intense look, one of desire and caution. She smiled, biting her lower lip.

“Shiral…?” He questioned, arching a brow.

“Nothing. It just…” She ran her hands down his chest. “It feels nice to be wanted.”

The sentiment in her voice made his breath catch before he leaned down to continue peppering her neck in feathery kisses. “I shall always want you, ma sa’lath. I will never get enough of you.”

Warm, lightly calloused hands slid up her sides beneath the material, pushing her sweater up to her breasts, gooseflesh spreading out over her lean belly. He eyed her tattoos and scars, recalling the first time he saw them. A breathy sound left Shiral as he kissed them as well, and her scars. He would need to ask her about them later. Now, he had more important things to do.

A little, clipped laugh left her as she felt his warm breath ghosting across her skin.

“Ticklish?” He asked softly, smirking.

“Not that much.” Shiral said.

“Shall I continue?” His fingers skirted the hem of her bunched-up sweater.

She simply nodded.

A soft giggle left her as he kissed along her neck before he pulled back to gaze down at her, his hands gently pushing the material up further. Briefly, she sat up, allowing him to pull the heavy sweater off her and drop it to the floor before Shiral laid back on the bed. She was a thing of beauty. Soft skin accented by black ink and a few faint scars. For a moment, Shiral blushed shyly. She was lean even for an elf, with a flat – according to many Orlesian noblewomen, adolescent – bosom and pale pink nipples that did not quite match her skin. Part of her worried he would not find it attractive, but he immediately swooped down for another kiss.

Tentatively, she reached out for him, tugging at the catches of his robes and getting them open. Her slim hands slid carefully along his flanks and up over his chest. While lean and certainly lanky, he was also toned and strong, having some degree of muscle without being too much. Shiral felt a puff of breath across her neck as she touched a scar that lay across his hip-bone, just above his breeches, where he was already stirring.

“You okay?” Shiral asked, knowing he was still uneasy.

“Yes, vhenan.” Solas assured her quietly. “It’s… been a while.”

Turning her head, she kissed his cheek, shivering as Solas’ hands left her. He sat up so he could let his robes slide down to the floor, leaving them both in breeches, though not for much longer. She pulled him down over her, kissing him lovingly, running her hands down his back. The glow of the Anchor flickered wildly with her excitement, a few arcs of energy lapping at his skin and making him groan against her lips.

“Sorry!” She balled up her left hand and pulled it away from him quickly.

“It’s alright.” Solas caught her hand, kissing her wrist softly. “It feels… pleasant.”

Shiral raised a brow at him, her lover blushing a little at the admission, before tentatively resting her hand on his shoulder once again.

He paused, hands resting on her leggings, eyes searching hers for permission. She simply nodded to him with a smile, and lifted her hips to help as he pulled the snug material away with her smalls. Her own hands moved to the lacings of his breeches, where she paused and ran her palm down the firm outline of his manhood. He parted the kiss to groan into the side of her neck.

“Don’t tease, ma vhennan.” Solas chuckled quietly. “Be patient.”

“You know I’m not a patient person.” Shiral whined, trying to get the lacings open.

“Here.” Reaching between them, with a single tug, he pulled them undone.

He was a good size, but Shiral had expected that considering he was fairly tall for an elf. However, Solas turned her attention back to his mouth as he kissed his way from her chin, down her neck, across her collarbone, to one nipple.

Part of her felt overly sensitive as his warm breath caressed the pink bud, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as he kissed it and then sealed his mouth over it, lapping at it with his tongue in gentle circles while his hands rested on her hips. Shiral keened, her free hand gripping his shoulder as he pulled back and pressed feather-light kisses to the sensitive underside of her breast, all while his hands were softly kneading her flesh or tracing her tattoos and scars with his fingers.

“Solas!” She gasped quietly as he released the now rosy bud, kissing his way to the other while his hand came up to tend the one he already teased.

Shiral squirmed impatiently, cheeks flushed. With a little pout, she pinched the tip of his ear, earning a quiet gasp and a very subtle roll of his hips down against her. She could feel him, warm and hard, the sensation of skin-on-skin like a pleasant static. Relenting, he pulled his mouth away from her chest and looked up at her.

For a moment, he rested his hand on her thigh, awaiting permission. It came in the form of another heated kiss, Shiral moaning as he gently slipped a finger into her. Solas almost groaned at the feeling. She was warm and wet for him, her inner walls soft and tight, though from what he felt, she was not a virgin – not that it mattered or bothered him, and it was one less hurtle to deal with.

Breaking the kiss, Shiral pressed her mouth to his neck, Solas groaning aloud when he felt her suck a dark mark into the skin. His robes would cover it, but the very idea she was marking him made him unconsciously grind against her as she rolled her hips into him. He worked a second digit into her, listening carefully to her moans and mews as one of her hands held the back of his neck, and the other lightly scratched between his shoulders.

“Solas, please, ma’lath.” Shiral huffed.

“Soon, vhenan.” Solas promised, giving her lips a quick kiss before lowering his mouth to her neck.

She gasped as he returned her mark, leaving a hickey dangerously close to where the collar of her vest ended. She knew people would ask, but she did not care, shivering excitedly as he finally pressed his thumb against her clit. The pad of his thumb swirled in circular motions, then up and down, gaging which she liked more. Her nails dug into his skin more sharply, her inner walls relaxing and allowing a third digit to slip inside.

Shiral arched her hips into his touch. “Please… Solas!”

He simply smirked at her impatience, peppering the skin of her neck and collar bones in soft nips and kisses, showering her with attention when he finally pulled his hand away. There would be more nights for teasing. Right now, they were both too desperate.

Shiral arched a brow as he propped her hips up with a pillow and pulled her legs up onto his hips. Then, she smiled as he laid himself over her, leaned on his elbow as he kissed her sweetly, the motion soft. She could make a joke. So many jokes. But later, when he was more secure at being so exposed. Not right now.

Her pleased sigh mingled with his groan as he entered her, soon surrounded by a tight, slick warmth he definitely wanted to linger in. Shiral sank her teeth into her lower lip, the stretch enough to sting, but only in the best way. He kissed her, rolling his hips slowly, unhurried in his movements. She lost the urge to rush, moaning softly at the feeling of him filling her so completely. The Anchor began flickering wildly as pleasure coursed through her, the woman arching into his movements as best she could, torn between scratching at his skin and digging her fingers into the bedding.

Solas kissed her, caressing every inch of skin he could touch, tracing her tattoos and scars. His breath hitched when he felt her hands running along his own scars, which had largely been hidden from her and others.

One dangerously close to his navel, many across his back, three along his left hip that look like they were left by claws… Some were jagged, caused by whips – she had been tortured by Templars in Kirkwall and knew the mark well. Others were smooth and thin, from blades. Brand scars, from magic or hot iron. She guessed instantly they were from the War of Arlathan and did not ask. Instead, she showed her understanding and love with soft touches, little breathy mews escaping her as he starts moving just a little harder at the reminder she now knew and apparently did not care.

Shiral’s nails dug into Solas’ shoulders when he started murmuring Elvhen to her, their movements synced like waves on a shore. She was moaning, blushing, at his praise. Unable to really reply as he played her body like some fine-tuned instrument – to him, it probably was – she simply moaned in appreciation, and gasped as his thumb found its way to her clit, stroking and pressing expertly.

“Shiral… I’m…” Solas tailed off, grunting as he started to lose rhythm.

“Inside.” She answered quickly, knowing what he meant as she too neared her peak.

He groaned, movements becoming rougher and quicker as they neared the edge.

Neither of them knew who came first. She gasped and arched under him, her lithe legs closing around his hips and pulling him against her. He let out a clipped, broken cry as he finished and spilled, muscles shaking as he listened to Shiral mew at the feeling of his release. Both were left panting, Solas’ breath warm against her shoulder as she leaned her head back on the pillow. Her entire body was singing in bliss as he leaned over her, trying not to rest all his weight on her.

He was gentle with her when he pulled away, getting up briefly to grab a bowl of water and a cloth to clean themselves up. She hummed appreciatively and smiled as he laid beside her, pulling the thin covers up over their nude forms. Instantly, she turned and snuggled against him, and he pulled her close, allowing his thoughts to fall away for now.

\---------

When the morning comes, Solas is the first to wake, lying on his back with Shiral partly draped over his body, an arm and a leg thrown over him. She was still asleep, her head lying on his shoulder. It gave him a good view of her tattoos along her back and sides, the hand that rested along her spine tracing the ornate patterns with the pads of his fingers. They were beautiful. Every part of her was, though it had taken him a while to get used to her vallaslin. The vallaslin that dedicated her to him. It was all she had left of her clan. Wearing slave-markings with a defiant pride.

After a while, she inhaled deeply and sighed, nuzzling his skin as her eyes slat open a bit, lazily surveying his features. “Please say this isn’t a dream…”

“I’m here, ma’lath. And very much real.” Solas told her, voice quiet.

She hummed, arching slightly into the soft touches along her back. “Feels good.”

“What do they mean? Your tattoos?”

“I took an etching of the wood carving on the Keeper’s aravel after she died, and had an artist in Orlais put them on me.” Shiral said, not bothered he asked.

He said nothing at this, nuzzling the top of her head and placing a kiss there.

“I wouldn’t mind having one of your frescos on me.” She mused. “I have plenty more skin.”

“Yes. I would paint them on and then wash them from you so I could paint you all over again. You would be a beautiful canvas.”

“Sweet-talker.”

Both of them share a tired, breathy laugh at that. He then sighed deeply, knowing it was inevitable. “Are you awake enough to talk, ma vhenan?”

“Sure.” Shiral gazed at him, leaning up on her elbows. “I… guess it’s about what Nightmare said.”

“It is.” Solas told her.

“I know that this world is… strange to you. And scary. And I know you feel guilty and think it’s horrible and that it’s all your fault.”

He frowned, but did not deny it. She was right, after all.

“But you’re a good man. My people saw that. They knew you freed them from the influence of the Evanuris, and they’re happy for it. More will follow. Their past was forgotten, perhaps for the best, but things change with time. An immortal like you needs to understand that.”

Solas said nothing, but stared at her with clear surprise at her wisdom.

“You gave my people, our people, a new life and new future. We travel the land as nomads waiting for a new home to be found for us. You can do that. And you can restore our people without tearing down the Veil. Without destroying everything.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I know you. And I’ll help you carry this burden until you realize you have nothing to feel guilty about. However long that takes.” She leaned closer, placing a kiss over his heart.

As her words sink in, he feels a drop of wetness trail down his cheek as he stares at her. Shiral smiled sweetly, scooting closer and kissing the stray tear away, wrapping an arm around him.

* “Ar lath’ir ma, vhenan.” He told her quietly.

* “I love you too, ma fen.”


	19. The Wolf's Jaw

“Any idea what this is?” Bull asked as they looked through the ruins.

“Are you going to ask me that every time we come across an ancient ruin?” Solas sighed in reply.

“Probably.”

“No. From what I can tell, the architecture is Dwarven. It’s not my area of expertise.”

Shiral gave a little smile at the exchange. In the week since the events with the Wardens, not much differed from before. Dorian got a little more curious, Sera was keeping her distance, and Cassandra and Leliana were a little more respectful… Thankfully, no one had made threats against him or made attempts on his life, even after the news spread like wildfire. The clan in the Exalted Plains had not withdrawn their support, and their Dalish agents even expressed keen and friendly curiosity. Having his identity out in the open did not make him any less nervous, but Shiral was always quick to come to his defense if need be. Slipping out of a crowd was still easy, thankfully.

All in all, little if anything had changed.

That did not make fighting a dragon any easier, the group tensing as one flew right over them.

Shiral tensed. “It’s heading towards camp!”

The others sprinted after her, Dorian gazing at her fearfully. “You don’t honestly think it would attack?!”

“Not gonna risk it! You two hang back and attack at a distance! Bull, up front with me!”

\---------

Apparently, stabbing a dragon in the ass was the least effective way to attack, but it was good for a distraction, allowing Bull to cleave his axe into its neck and bleed the beast out. Both he and Shiral were soaked head-to-toe.

Her pulse was thundering in her ears, even now. The dragon had turned on the two mages and pounced, Shiral barely having enough time to throw a blade into the beast’s eye as it swiped a great paw at the mages. Solas took the brunt of the hit, Dorian managing to drag his fellow mage up and behind cover before flame poured over the ground.

“Hold still.” Shiral murmured, dabbing a damp cloth at a scrape along his brow. “You alright?”

“Surprisingly, considering the circumstances.” Solas muttered. “I’ll heal myself once I catch my breath.”

“Hey.” Bull dangled something in front of Solas’ face. “You lost this.”

Letting out a breathy sigh, he caught it in hand. The braided leather strings of his wolf-jaw pendant had broken, and the jaw had a large crack along the length of it, a tooth missing. Fixing it was out of the question.

“Thank you.” Solas muttered, trying not to frown.

Shiral pouted, but said nothing, continuing to tend wounds.

\---------

Solas never gave her a story behind the pendant. She presumed it was something of importance, whether to do because Evanuris had chosen animals or something else. Talking about Arlathan tended to make him upset, so she tried to avoid it and show him the beauty of the present age – something he deeply appreciated.

But the idea of losing something so personal… It troubled her. Shiral could not lose her tattoos. They were attached symbols. His, however, were objects capable of being lost. And she wanted to help. So, she got together some supplies and set to work. It took a lot of time, and all her skill as the daughter of a clan’s crafter to make such a masterpiece. Light, but strong. Dorian was more than happy to enchant it for her. Now, she simply needed to present the gift.

“Solas?”

“I’m here, vhenan.” He replied, hearing her come up the stairs.

She paused, looking at him, her lover lying back on the sofa, legs bent up and book in his lap, one hand steadying it as the back of the other hand propped his head by the cheek. Hanin was laying on his feet, Solas being the only other besides Shiral that the hatchling was this comfortable wth. Solas had been a little off, for lack of a better term, since getting back from the Hinterlands.

“I have something for you.” Shiral informed him.

Solas looked over at her from the corner of his eye, seeing her bounce on her heels with something held behind her back. After a moment, he marked his place in his book and set the tome aside on the end-table, sitting up. Dislodged from his place, the phoenix hatchling, now the size of a medium dog, huffed and hopped up onto the bed. Biting her lower lip nervously, Shiral pulled the gift out from behind her and presented it to him in a small box. His curiosity was more than piqued. Solas was unused to receiving gifts, even from her. Most of the time, when she gave them things, they were useful items such as weapons or armor.

This was neither of those things. Pulling the lid off the flat, plain box, Solas gasped, brows furrowing upwards sharply. Within lay a wolf-jaw pendant of lightweight ironbark, carved with tribal markings along the side of it. It was held with woven leather, which was decorated with translucent glass beads of amber, grey, green, and black. He could feel the enchantment upon it, a soft and barely-there hum.

“Vhenan… This…” Solas was at a loss for words.

Shiral inwardly started to panic as she watched tears slide down his cheeks. “Solas?”

A yelp left her as he pulled her close, embracing her and burying his face into her shoulder with a quiet sound. “It’s wonderful, Shiral. Thank you. This means… It means more than I can say.”

She pulled back, kissing him softly before gazing at him. “I know it means a lot to you. That’s what matters to me.”

He nodded, and pulled on the necklace, sighing at the familiar weight.


	20. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst. I explored the idea of typing canon. My heart couldn't take it.

Nightmare I

*********

“Var lath vir suledin!” Shiral sobbed, left hand balled into a fist where she held it to her stomach in pain, energy arcing wildly from the Anchor.

“Ir abelas, ma’vhenan.” Solas murmured, stepping through the Eluvian.

She ran after him, only for the glass to stop her. The Inquisitor wailed in distress, clawing at the surface, sobbing.

The light on the mirror’s surface shifted, rippling to become swirling green flames. They poured up, consuming the sky as a massive Breach, ten times the size of the first one, swallowed the world. Cities crumbled and fell. Fields burned. Spirits and demons ran wild, gorging themselves on the souls of the dead and possessing the handful of survivors.

A black, six-eyed wolf watched from a mountain peak. When the shaking ceased, and everything had fallen silent, he strode into Skyhold. Their comrades, his friends, lay dead. 

Strewn about in the chaos. Some had been killed by debris. Others, by demons.

In the main hall, Shiral lay pinned by a fallen timber, her midsection crushed. Crimson trailed from the corner of her mouth as she struggled to breathe. Solas strode towards her. 

Delirious, dying, she reached a shaking hand out to him.

\---------

Solas’ eyes snapped open, his frame tense. There were no fires. No earthquakes. No spirits, demons, or Breach.

They were in bed, in what had become their quarters, Hanin asleep in his little nest-like bed by her desk. His breaths came in shuddering, soft pants, which he quickly reined in to keep from waking Shiral or her pet. She was lying nestled against his side, snoozing peacefully.

Swallowing thickly, he carefully pulled her closer. The Inquisitor let out a soft murmur, shifting a little but soon settling. She was warm, and so very alive against his body.

His vision blurred with tears, Solas gently kissing the top of her head. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

\---------

Nightmare II

*********

“You have some nerve coming back, Dread Wolf.” Cullen said coolly when the other entered Skyhold keep. “Or, you’re an idiot.”

“Perhaps both.” Solas replied quietly. “I request your assistance, though I know I do not deserve it, lethallin.”

“What do you want?”

“I seek Sh—… Inquisitor Lavellan.” He corrected himself, her name still painful to say. “Is she…?”

“She’s here.” Cullen answered, albeit a bit hesitantly. “Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Solas questioned uneasily.

“Ask her. She’s likely in the gardens.” Turning, he reluctantly led his guest through the halls.

There was… an odd lack of life in these halls. There were cobwebs, a fine layer of dust on everything. No visiting dignitaries, no nobles. Very few people were here. Mostly mages and Templars, living in relative peace. Or, existing. No one here really looked ‘alive,’ per se. When they reached the courtyard, the warmth of the sun and cool of the breeze was lost on Solas. The second he saw her, meditating quietly amidst the elfroot and lotus, he felt numb. She bore a familiar symbol over her brow. The mark of the Tranquil.

“Vhenan…” The word leaves him as a whisper, a breath, as he sank to his knees.

Cullen was not moved. Not convinced. “She begged for it. When we refused, she then ordered us to do it. ‘Tired of living with the pain,’ she said.”

Solas stood, but before he could go to her, the commander stopped him by the arm, giving him a cold, serious glare.

“There is a specific way to undo it.”

He tore his arm free with a sneer even as tears slid down his cheeks. “You bewitched her?! Turning her Tranquil wasn’t enough for you?!”

“Let us not forget why she wanted to be Tranquil in the first place, ‘Solas.’”

Solas winced, swallowing thickly.

“Yes. We created a specific way to break her Tranquility.” Cullen supplied. “If you prove to her that you love her above all else, then it will be broken.”

“But I told her…”

“Actions speak louder than words. You told her you loved her. And you abandoned her, and then ignored her when she called out for help. That told her more than words could ever say.”

Solas frowned darkly, following the commander down the courtyard steps into the lush grass where she sat, legs crisscrossed. Her left arm was gone at the shoulder, leaving the left sleeve of her silken temple robes empty beside her. No staff, no weapons… It was as if she did not care about the fact she was unarmed. Defenseless. Where her honey-colored eyes were once full of life, they were now glazed and empty. She barely seemed to notice when they finally reached her.

“I’ll leave you two alone to speak. You may stay here, Fen’harel, until you wear out what little welcome your title offers you.” Cullen muttered before striding away.

“I apologize. Cullen is… zealous, in his duties.” Shiral said, her voice a colorless monotone and strangely proper as she stood up. “What brings you here, Dread Wolf?”

“Vhenan… Why would you do this?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he cupped her face in his hand. “Why would you allow yourself to be made Tranquil? Why would you ask for that?”

“Because I lacked the courage to end my own life.”

The statement, and the way it was said, both made him sick.

“But I also think it was because I was worried what it would do to you if you ever found out. You have enough guilt on your conscience, most of it unwarranted, but enough nonetheless.”

Solas followed her as she started walking down the garden paths.

“I also knew that I bore an obligation to this place. So, I came here, and Cullen assisted me after I managed to convince him it was necessary.”

He wanted to argue. Desperately so. But he could not find the right words. “Cullen said that you were waiting. What did he mean?”

“Awaiting the end.” Rasha told him, voice smooth and contemplative.

“The… end?”

“The destruction of the Veil and thus the world. You said so yourself.” She continued walking, her former lover not far behind. “The other clans asked me to help build Reathe’an… but it would be a wasted effort.”

“Reathe’an?”

“We were given the land to build an Elvhen nation. Reathe’an is the capital city. I’ve never seen it. But pilgrims who come here to learn our history speak of it.” Shiral halted, gazing out over the snowy forest beyond the wall. “Why are you here, Fen’harel? I have little to offer you.”

“You offered your love…” Now he could not help the sob that left him. “Vhenan, please… How can I mend this?”

“There is nothing to mend, Fen’harel. I am at peace. As all should be.”

\---------

Solas barely contained the sob threatening to escape him when he awoke. They were safe, in their tent, sharing a bedroll in the chilly air of Emprise du Lion. The wind was howling outside, and he was lying on his side, Shira snuggled up against his front. He gazed down at her, running the pad of his thumb across a flawless cheek, free of markings, and that brand.

So many questions ran through his mind. Would she? Would she truly do that, to end the pain his leaving would cause her?

He quietly decided he would not give himself a chance to find out. He would keep his promise to her. He would stay.

\---------

Nightmare III

*********

The last Eluvian. He had to reach it before his unseen opponent. That one mirror was his last chance to set things right. Solas arrived just in time to hear shattering glass. When he reached the courtyard of the ancient ruin, he skidded to a halt in shock of what he saw.

“Shiral?!”

The figure turned. It had once been Shiral, but now, he was looking upon someone different. The Anchor had ascended up her arm to her neck and that side of her face. The left eye had been blackened entirely, save for a vivid green iris. Fade crystal had encased her left arm like armor, including long claws. Where she normally wore her casual attire, even in Skyhold, she had opted for a set of worn, ancient Elvhen robes.

“Hello, Solas.” She said plainly, normally mirthful voice now gone icy cold. Her voice was off, as if a deem bass voice spoke alongside her normal tone, altering it into something unnatural.

“What… What are you doing?! Why have you done this?!” He demanded, staring at her as well as the broken mirror behind her.

Shiral plucked a sliver from the mirror, examining it in hand before flicking it away. “To save my people, and this world.”

Chills ran down Solas’ spine at her response.

“Do you know Varric wrote a book about us? The final line is strangely poetic. ‘But love was not enough.’”

“Shiral… please. Come down so we may talk.”

Suddenly, she glared at him. “Now, you wish to talk. With a Dalish, no less.”

“Vhenan—”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

He fell silent, watching her carefully.

“Did you think I’d just let you end all creation?” Shiral cast him a bitter glare. “Do you think I’d let you place that kind of blame on the shoulders of my people?!”

“Shiral, it isn’t that simp—”

“Or did you just not care?” She questioned, slowly striding down the steps towards him. “Two birds with one stone? Almost everyone dies from the initial event, and the Dalish are killed off by those who blame elves?”

He frowned, but allowed her to vent.

Now, she stood before him, bicolored eyes watching him coldly as a predator watches prey. “But you don’t even consider us elves. Is that why I wasn’t good enough?”

“Shiral, you don’t understand. I must restore what I destroyed. For the sake of our people.”

“Your people.” Shiral corrected, striding a short distance away and taking in the sight of the courtyard around them. “A dead people who cared for no one but themselves.”

“Shiral… Please. At least try to grasp what I’m telling you.”

“Perhaps you should listen for once in your life instead of prattling on like you do.”

His frustration started to mount, bubbling just under the surface.

“My people have a country, now. They built a statue of you not as a god, but as a man. A hero. Do you even care, Solas?”

“This isn’t about that, and you know it!”

There was a pause as a breeze swept past them, carrying leaves and flower petals that turned to ash when they came too close to her. She reached her clawed hand out, touching a single petal. It turned to crystal and fell to the ground, where it shattered on stone tile.

“Ashes to ashes…” Shiral mused quietly. “Immortals are and will always be the same. They grow confident in their power. They abuse it. And they deify themselves.”

Solas arched a brow at her as she again turned to face him.

“And you? You are worse. You claim not to be a god, but still act like one. Instead of cherishing what you have, you strive for more, and you’re willing to destroy what you have even if you gain nothing from it. The arrogance…”

The words struck him deeply, making him wince as if it was a physical pain.

“Immortals should be made to protect this world. Not destroy it and leave an innocent people to take their blame.” She gazed down at her claws, regarding them thoughtfully as she stepped away from him, now twice arm’s reach from him.

“What would you do, then? Kill me?”

Shiral glanced at him before turning to face him. “No, Fen’harel. Because that would be mercy. And you broke my mercy long ago.”

He tensed as she brought her claws up and sank them into her own throat. He shouted her name and ran to her, catching her as she fell. Blood poured from the wound too fast for him to heal. By the time the wound was closed, it was too late. Her bicolored eyes stared blankly up at the sky, color leaving her features as crimson pooled beneath them.

Solas cupped her face in hand, trying to wake her. He called her name. Wept to her. And when it was clear he was far too late, the Dread Wolf howled in agony at his loss.

\---------

A clipped cry broke the silence as Solas jolted up in bed. Shaking breaths left him as he struggled to process that they were safe, tucked away in camp, on their way back to Skyhold. Beside him, Shiral murmured and sat up on her elbow. In the dark, Hanin’s mismatched eyes focused on him, the phoenix seeming puzzled by the outburst.

“Lath? What is it?” Shiral questioned sleepily, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm.

“Nothing, vhenan.” Solas swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. “Just a bad dream.”

“Mm. ‘Mere.” She opened her arms to him.

He hesitated only briefly before laying back down and moving into her arms. She held him to her, burying her face against his neck with an incoherent mutter. Solas tried to push away the nightmare, but the words spoken by her doppelganger haunted him.

Little sleep was had that night.


	21. Dreams and Reality

“Solas?”

He jumped, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Blinking, he realized he had a piece of paper stuck to his face. With a quiet chuckle, Shiral peeled it away from his cheek and set it down on the table that served as his desk.

“You okay? Everyone else was in bed but I saw the rotunda door still open.”

“I’m… fine. Just a bad dream.” Solas muttered, shivering. Whether it was from cold or her touch, he did not know.

“You look a little peaky.” Shiral said, her amber eyes scanning his paled features. “Have you been sleeping at all? I mean… You did fall asleep here.”

“I… No. I suppose I haven’t.” Solas confessed, having been having the same horrible dreams for the past two weeks. It was honestly cutting into not only his work, but now his health as well.

Striding closer to him, she leaned against the arm of his chair, peppering his neck in kisses and grazing his pulse with her teeth. The feeling made him groan softly, a sigh leaving him at the sensation. It was still new to him, her – and others – welcoming him as he was. It was still new to let himself enjoy her touch without some sense of guilt.

Shiral pinched him, earning a yelp. “You’re thinking, again.”

“I’m always thinking, vhenan.” Solas chuckled.

“I can think of something better to do.” She glanced to the doorway nearby that led to his quarters. “Your room’s closer than mine.”

Taking her by the hand, Solas led her to his quarters, where he often stayed when she took others on missions and left him to his research. As soon as the door was closed, she turned to him, leaning up to kiss along his neck.

“Maybe we can have some fun in the Fade? You can show me your favorite hiding-places.”

Solas chuckled quietly, following her to the bed.

\---------

“Vhenan?” Solas’ voice echoed around him as he strode through the empty halls.

The keep around him was not one he recognized, from his ventures or his past. It was Elvhen, he could see that much, but… something was off. It was cold. Unwelcoming. Unpleasant. The walls, once home to painted frescoes and colorful mosaics, were cracked and crumbling. How had he gotten here?

The crackle of stone made him pause. Solas turned, gazing up. What he saw chilled the very blood in his veins. One of the mosaics, the one depicting the Dread Wolf, began to crack and splinter. A snout emerged, followed by three pairs of glowing red eyes, and the rest. It growled, plumes of steam rising from between its fangs.

He steeled himself with a sigh. This would not be the first time a demon had imitated either side of him. To his surprise, it did not confront him. In fact, it passed him by. As it walked, the hall behind it crumbled, falling to further ruin and forcing Solas to follow. The symbolism was not lost on him, making him feel a bit ill with old thoughts.

When they emerged outside, they were greeted with the Fade’s facsimile of sunshine. With grassy fields, and settlements in the distance. Life. Peace.

The demon taking his part suddenly lunged with a snarl. In a blanket of ash and dust, the beast surged over the land. Solas tensed, watching in horror as everything fell to ruin. Fields caught fire. The clouds swirled and lightning flashed overhead. A castle toppled, and he watched as Dalish aravels were buried beneath avalanches of soot.

“No… No!” Snapping out of his revere, Solas ran forth, traversing the Fade with practiced speed and following the destruction.

By the time it stopped, the ash had reached the steps of the forgotten temple in the Exalted Plains. A figure stood in the ash. The demon. It was perched on the stump of an ancient tree that was once a grave to the Dalish, overturned in the destruction. Its claws sank easily into the wood, the face of the Dread Wolf since replaced with a blackened skull, liquid tar leaking from the empty eye-sockets.

“You changed your mind?” The demon questioned, tar spilling from between chipped and cracked fangs as it spoke, ashes exhaled on every breath.

“Who… What… are you?” Solas questioned, eyes narrowing as he regained his composure.

“I? I am me. I am… decay. I am… death. I am time.” He answered, slippery tongue coming out to lap at its teeth. “If you mean what you may call me… I am called Entropy, by my brothers, and my sisters.”

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you scream so sweetly…” Entropy chuckled. “And you failed to answer my question, Dread Wolf. Have you changed your mind?”

“I don’t follow.” Solas muttered, not wanting to give this foul creature the satisfaction.

“But you did. You followed me here. To this place. The place those… not-elves call their graves. A place they hold sacred before not-gods, and speak in tongues of ignorance.”

He grit his teeth to keep from commenting. A demon of Despair, then, as far as Solas could tell. That would explain a few things… but it raised more questions than answers.

“Was it that little dahn’direlan’asha that turned you from your purpose? What is her name? Shiral?” The demon prowled down from its perch, circling him, its form not wholly together, but wispy like smoke and ash.

“Call her that again, and I will end you.” Solas threatened turning to stay facing the creature.

“Of course. Because that’s what the Dread Wolf does. Brings ends to things. You poison everything you touch. One day, she’ll end up just the same.” Entropy halted, raising a handlike forepaw and letting the dust beneath them slide through his fingers.

“Where is she?”

“How should I know? Probably off doing whatever it is that not-elves do.” He shrugged, the motion exaggerated. “It’s just I here, Fen’harel. None other than I.”

“Leave me be.” Solas warned, voice beginning to border on a growl.

“Why? Leaving things be never gets anything done. How long will you continue this farce? It won’t fix things. Better end it now… before you watch as nar’asha withers and dies, along with your friends, and children, and grandchildren… as all not-elves do.”

He swallowed thickly, but put the thought out of his mind.

Entropy slid closer. “I could end it for you, Dread Wolf. We both know how strong grief has made you. What’s a little more, to an already broken soul?”

“Stop.”

“It would be quick, of course. Merciful. When she least expects it. You don’t even need to see it happen—”

“ENOUGH!!!”

\---------

Only moments before him, Shiral came to. Just in time to see her lover bolt up in bed, one arm protectively over her while the other hand was held before him, mana skittering over his fingers as he prepared to fend off some attack or another.

“Solas.” Shiral said gently, voice full of concern.

Taking a few shaking breaths, he calmed himself, shivering at the cold sweat that covered his body. When she sat up and touched his shoulder, they found it was not sweat making him cold, but that he was frigid, much like the night after Haven’s destruction. Solas swallowed thickly, eyes wide in the dark and face pale.

“Solas… I tried to find you in the Fade. Did something happen?” She asked carefully, wrapping her arms around him.

He did not answer, still shivering. Shiral caught the glint of moisture in the dark, sliding down his cheek.

“Hey…” She slid in front of him, kneeling between his legs and hugging him. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here for you.”

Swallowing hard, Solas wrapped his arms around her almost hesitantly. She soothed him both in Trade and broken Elvish, nuzzling his neck and kissing along his jaw and cheekbones. His wolf-jaw pendent was cool where it pressed against their skin between them. Her presence was warming him, helping drive away the unnatural chill that had seized him in his dreams. It took a while for him to finally calm and nuzzle her temple, inhaling the soft scent of her hair.

“Ma serannas, vhenan.” Solas breathed out.

“Ma nuvenin, ma sa’lath.” Shiral told him softly. “Are you alright?”

He shook his head. “Dreams have been plaguing my thoughts lately. And…”

“And?”

“A demon attempted to…” Solas trailed off, another shiver coursing through him.

“Solas?”

“It’s nothing, vhenan. I… confronted it.”

Shiral pulled back and gazed at him a moment. She then understood. He had killed it, but not before the demon had stirred up whatever darkness lurked in his mind. Her lover pulled her closer to him, embracing her tightly as if she would disappear.

“I can’t even tell what’s real, anymore…” Solas murmured, breaths shaking as he struggled to calm himself.

“I’m real, vhenan.” Shiral affirmed, gently resting her brow against his. “I’m real, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Another sob left him before he managed to explain the nightmares. All three of them, as well as the demon, whom had impersonated her three separate times. Shiral listened, not moving from his hold, and gently soothing him as he cried muffled sobs into her shoulder. Finally, she had enough.

“Here. Lay down.” Shiral gently coaxed him backwards.

While he refused to let go of her, he managed to lay back down while she pulled the blankets up over them. One of his legs between her own, the Inquisitor part on her side and laying against him, one arm over his body and the other wedged between them and the bed, Shiral got comfortable. She could tell he remained awake for a long while.

Shiral gently took his hand after a bit, and pressed it to her chest, over her heart. “See? I’m real. Demons and spirits don’t have heartbeats. But I have one. And this heart beats for you, ma uth’lath.”

“And mine beats for you.” Solas murmured, growing tired.

“Sleep, Solas. Not in the Fade. Just sleep right here, next to me.”

He nodded stiffly.

After a bit longer, the pair finally found slumber, and slept well into the afternoon the next day. At Cole’s behest, the others left them be, allowing them to sleep in peace.


	22. The Ball

“Josephine, I’ve spent as much time with nobility as I have with my clan.” Shiral assured the ambassador as they strode through the main hall of Skyhold. “I know how to dance, how to talk, and how to eat. I’ll be fine.”

“I suspect you are correct, but I needed to be certain.” Josephine said. “The Orlesian nobility is… touchy, at best. Temperamental at worst.”

“I did come up with a list. I wanted you to hand it to the… whatshisface. The guy who announces us when we come in.”

“The herald, Inquisitor.”

“Yeah. Him. Because I swear, if he calls Solas a ‘serving man’ or Fen’harel, I’ll end up killing someone.”

Josephine glanced around before asking quietly. “Is he still upset?”

“No. But I want him to be comfortable instead of nervous.”

“I understand.” She nodded, making a quick note on her clipboard as they stepped into her study. “Why haven’t the uniforms arrived?”

“Um… My fault. I sent them back.”

“What?!”

“Well, I wanted each of us to be properly represented. So I… got new uniforms. Yours is in the box on your desk.”

Curious, Josephine gently set it down her clipboard and opened the box. She pulled out a beautiful ballgown of Inquisition colors. It bore a high collar and long, beautifully puffed sleeves with modest cutouts in the shoulders that bore a fine lace mesh of floral designs.

“It’s… beautiful.” Josephine said with a blush. “But…”

“Relax. No cost. I called in a favor from a friend who happens to be a professional.”

Josephine nodded before hugging the slighter woman. “Thank you so much.”

“Figured you’d like it.” She nodded, smiling. “If anyone asks you who tailored our outfits, tell them it was Madame Maxime in Val Royeaux. She wants the notoriety.”

“Of course! Of course. Just… Thank you!”

\---------

No one noticed how Shiral lingered in the corners to see how everyone reacted to their uniforms like presents on Yule.

Blackwall’s uniform was dashing, of charming Freemarches design to represent the Wardens, with angled shoulders and a fine tailcoat emblazoned with the Wardens emblem on the right shoulder, though it was of Inquisition colors. Lingering nearby, Shiral smirked when the man let out a quiet ‘Maker’s balls…’ She wondered how he would react when he saw Josephine’s gown, seeing as they were paired for the ball – among other things. He had just made his affections known to the woman last week, even then with hesitance.

Seeing how Bull preferred Orlesian fashion to some extent, Shiral had stuck somewhat close to the original uniform, but with decorative stitching of pale grey along hems and cuffs, along with baggier pants – not striped. Bull seemed somewhat impressed, smirking as he pulled the box open and examined its contents.

Dorian was somewhat suspicious of the package until he saw the note on the lid in Shiral’s handwriting. After glancing around, he opened it and gasped softly. His uniform was of Tevinter fashion, with the draping outer robe that only covered one side. Inquisition red and black with accents of gold filigree embroidery, and geometric patterns on the lining of the outer robe, as well as printed patterns on the cuffs of the boots.

Sera’s uniform was not as elaborate as others, fitting to her taste but also being stylish. A sleek tailed tunic with a cloth underbust corset and fingerless ballroom gloves. Noblewoman’s boots were accented by knee-high spats. Sera stared at it for a moment before snorting, and then laughing. Much like her, Cole’s attire was simple, the outfit of a dapper young gentleman with a note in the box reminding him to brush his hair and leave his hat behind. While he pouted at that, he was fascinated by the outfit, running his fingers appreciatively over the fine craftsmanship.

Cassandra’s attire was fine but functional. There was a high-collared gown with gathered sleeves and ballroom gloves, and bearing trousers rather than a skirt. She did have a bustle, but nothing that would get in her way even in a fight, followed by military over-knee boots. She blushed darkly when she opened the parcel, eyes darting to where Varric sat on the battlement stairs nearby. They had only recently started exploring a relationship since he ended things with Bianca, the warrior still shy about it.

Of course, Varric’s finery was somewhat similar to Blackwall’s, made in the ‘austere’ Kirkwall fashion. Cullen’s was much the same. Each set, however, was unique. Varric’s had designs common to the Merchant’s guild and Dwarves, something that made him smile appreciatively when he received his own uniform. Cullen’s were a little plainer, with Andrastean designs along the trim.

Vivienne had finery of her own that she intended to wear. That made Shiral glad she asked ahead of time. The Enchanter, after all, had entire wardrobes dedicated to special events. Leliana was a different story, and Shiral had to go through careful observation before finally deciding.

The Spymaster was stunned when she saw her uniform. Stunned in a good way. Shiral had noticed how much she missed Orlais, her love of fashion and politics. She described Leliana at length to Maxime before her friend decided on a fitting design, and did not disappoint. It was a knee-length gown with pleated skirt and bustled underbust corset. There was a high, fanned collar of transparent lace, and cutouts over her shoulders that tapered into slimming sleeves and ballroom gloves. Breeches tucked into the cuffed noblewoman’s boots. Hems and linings were embroidered with floral paisley, roses, and doves. The design brought happy tears to Leliana, who uttered a breathy thank-you she did not expect anyone to hear.

The last set, Shiral wanted to give in person. She walked, parcel in hand, past the rotunda, where she nodded for Solas to follow her. Curious, he marked his place in the book he was examining before following after her. Only when they were alone in her quarters did she speak up.

“Here. Your uniform for the ball.” Shiral said, blushing as she handed it to him.

Solas arched a brow. “I thought Josephine was taking care of it.”

“Well, she was. But… Well, I know a tailor. And she’s really good. And I really didn’t wanna parade around in the things she had before. … Look, just open it. Please.”

Curious, he set the package down on the bed and opened it. A soft gasp left him as he picked up the uniform, fingers greeted by soft suede, stitched cotton, and thick silks. The design was of ancient Elvhen robes, the tunic bearing a high collar with a woven leather cinch-belt, footwraps, and gloves. The tunic was of blue silk, the sleeveless coat being of white suede with embroidered green Elvish patterns with a grey fur collar, the breeches being a plain and dark grey hue. The metal clasps were of blue vitriol, and on the right shoulder was a broach of the Inquisition emblem.

“These are…” Solas trailed off, swallowing thickly. “These are wonderful, vhenan. Thank you.”

She smiled, hugging him from behind and nuzzling the back of his neck. “My robes match.”

“They do? May I see them?” He questioned curiously.

“Sure.” Shiral went to her desk, pulling out a box from beneath her desk.

What she pulled out of that box stunned him. Traditional robes of a Dalish Keeper with matching colors and brooch, and instead of a cinch belt, a cloth sash meant to be tied in a half-bow behind her back. It was a thing of beauty, and the symbolism was not lost on him. The Dread Wolf, and a Dalish Keeper.

“This was very thoughtful of you, vhenan.” Solas murmured appreciatively.

“Well, this is partly selfish.” Shiral confessed with a smarmy grin, setting the robes down.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. One, I get to see your handsome self in traditional garb.”

His cheeks flushed lightly, surprise on his features.

“And two, I get to rub the fact I’m an elf in everyone’s faces.” Shiral snickered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Mostly the first one, though.”

“Of course.” Solas chuckled, nuzzling her cheek.

“You are handsome, you know. Sometimes, I don’t think I tell you that enough.” She cupped his cheek affectionately.

“You tell me constantly, Shiral.” He reminded her quietly.

“Oh. Well, no reason to stop.”

A boyish laugh welled in his chest at how cheeky she was being, making her smile. She loved it when she could coax out a laugh and a smile, too used to him being serious. He opened up to her more than anyone else, naturally, and she was glad he was comfortable enough to come out of the walls he had built over the ages.

\---------

The arrival of the Inquisition was met with something akin to awe. Josephine had sent the announcement list ahead of them, and Shiral could tell the man had received the tactful letter she herself had slipped in with it as insurance to make sure that was the list he used. Each couple walked in with arms linked.

* “Presenting Inquisitor Shiral Lavellan, and Arcane Advisor Solas Faron.”

Several murmurs coursed through the court as the two elves strode in wearing traditional Elvhen attire. Some murmurs were confused, and others were awed with surprise that anything Elvish could be beautiful. Many of the servants halted in their tracks to regard the two with awe, and respectfully bow their heads. Thankfully, no one sounded pissed off. But if they had, Shiral would set them straight with that familiar murderous look that often made people scuttle away in terror.

“Ser Iron Bull of the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company, and Ambassador Dorian Pavus of Tevinter.”

More murmurs, these more scandalous. They were the resident odd-couple, but many in the crowd quietly caterwauled in jealousy at two handsome men wrapped up in one another instead of one of them.

“Constable Blackwall of the Grey Wardens, and Inquisition Ambassador Josephine Montilyet.”

Shiral smiled, watching the two of them stride into the main hall together, both looking like nervous teenagers on their first date. It was beyond cute.

“Varric Tethras of Kirkwall, and Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast of Nevarra.”

Yet another odd couple. Varric looked amused, but this was expected by the Inner Circle. Cassandra held herself with poise and dignity, though here was a light flush on her cheeks not wholly due to makeup.

“Commander Cullen of the Inquisition, and Ambassador Cole of Ferelden.”

Cullen, of course, garnered numerous swoons from the female crowd. Cole was just plain cute, hair neatly combed. The two were still adjusting, Cullen to having feelings for a spirit, and Cole to trying to be more human while maintaining his unique abilities. Even so, they were wonderful together, Cullen having someone to love and Cole having someone to care for. It just worked, as bizarre as it was.

“Ser Banalras Tabris of Denerim, and Scout Captain Leliana of the Inquisition.”

Shiral arched a brow, watching the strange, hooded city-elf accompany Leliana. She had not met the man, but seen him in passing now and again. He spoke very quietly, and from his bearing, was a rogue much like his lover. According to those she asked, Banalras had been among the wardens and aided them in their travels.

\---------

Solas had been secretly worried for his lover. A ball would be an excellent place for an assassination attempt – besides the one planned for the empress. However, most avoided getting too close, usually a respectful arm’s length from her as he stayed close to her. Much of his time was spent people-watching while Shiral socialized and won the favor of the entire court with ease. That, and a reunion with her good friend, Lord Abernache.

Solas watched her more than anyone else, however. Shiral looked beautiful, garbed in robes that looked like a mixture between Dalish and ancient Elvhen. There was a moment when she literally took his breath away. In the night, as she socialized and turned to gaze at him. Moonlight from the window was on her, making her honey-colored eyes reflect metallic gold much like her painted nails and making her hair shine like spilt wine, her Vallaslin stark on her face but beautiful regardless.

As the ball was winding down and ending, after the assassination was halted and the empress disavowed, Solas found Shiral outside. He was glad for her. She had won the entire court’s appreciation, settled a civil war, and gained a powerful ally while also putting a genocidal tyrant in her place and stopping a traitor who claimed to be helping the elves when she was really doing more damage. There was a smug, satisfied look on her face as she enjoyed the evening air.

“Hello, vhenan.” Solas greeted, standing beside her. “You look pleased.”

“I am.” Shiral confirmed. “I had worried Leliana would be cross with me, but since her lovely is a City-Elf, I guess she understands. Or she’s saving the ass-chewing for later.”

“Perhaps. But you did a brave thing, tonight. Denying the Empress, and exposing Briala. Your courage never ceases to awe me, ma’lath.”

She chuckled, turning to him. “You certainly looked like you were having fun.”

“I was. Arlathan once enjoyed a game much like that of Orlais. I missed it.” He admitted quietly before offering his arm. “The last dance is about to be played, if you wish to join me.”

Shiral smiled warmly, linking arms and going with him back to the ballroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Shiral gives Solas the surname Faron for the announcement. It's dalish for "like a close friend" or something to that effect...
> 
> EDIT/AN: I just realized how much I've focused on Solas' POV instead of Shiral's, and I'm gonna try to fix that/ balance that out in future chapters, thanks. ^-^'


	23. Night to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ahead has sex! 18+ readers only, please.

Shiral stretched with a feline sort of grace as they entered their shared room in the guest tower, arms stretching above her before clasping her hands behind her head. As he closed the door behind them, Solas found his gaze roaming her body. They hadn’t had much time for physical intimacy since the night after Adamant, after which much of their time together was either spent working, or sleeping.

Feeling his gaze on her, she turned, and smirked. “Got something on your mind?”

“Many things.” Solas strode up to her, resting his hands on her hips as his brow rested against hers. “You’re a sight to behold, vhenan.”

“Mm. You’re not so bad yourself, ma’sa’lath.” Her hands slid up his front to rest her wrists on his shoulders, hands splaying over the tops of his shoulder-blades. “You’re handsome to begin with. More so when you smile.”

A rich, boyish laugh bubbled up from deep in his chest. She stood on tiptoes, kissing the bridge of his nose. Solas shifted their positions, leaning down just enough to capture her lips. He didn’t linger long, trailing a line of kisses down her throat. Shiral’s hands tightened into fists, a pleased little sigh passing her lips.

“I want to make love to you, vhenan. On your night of conquest, removing your robes piece by piece…” Solas murmured against her neck.

“I like that idea.” She snickered.

He nipped at her collarbone, walking her back towards the bed. “You planned this.”

“To some extent. I wanted you to enjoy yourself. … Did it work?”

“Very much so.”

Seeing him smiling like that, looking at her like she was the only person in the world… It warmed her heart in a way nothing else could. A shudder quaked through her body, the woman taking in a shaking breath. He paused, gazing at her, brushing her tears away with the backs of his fingers as she sat down on the foot of the bed.

“Vhenan…?”

“I love you.” Shiral murmured, nuzzling his neck. “More than words can say.”

He laid her back on the soft, silken covers, one knee on the bed between her legs as he kissed along her neck. Shiral sighed contentedly, pleased that with him, she was not the Inquisitor, nor the Herald, or even a mercenary. She was just Shiral.

Pleased little mews parted her lips as his mouth worshipped her neck. Kisses were peppered along her pulse, his teeth occasionally grazing the sensitive flesh. All the while, his hands roamed her form, sliding across her body despite the clothing in his way. Fingers traced the insides of her thighs, slim hands giving her backside a squeeze. She moaned, arching into his touch, shuddering when she felt his hands slide up to the half-bow of her sash. Silk was tugged free, going slack around her middle to slither to the bed in a pool of green. He was murmuring in Elvhen, but she only understood a few words of it. 

“Harder.” Shiral huffed, trailing a finger along the back of his neck.

“Shiral, if I bite any harder,” he nuzzled under her jaw, “I’ll leave marks.”

“Good.”

A strained, growlike sound came from the pit of his chest, sending a little thrill down her spine. It was followed by a dull but pleasant pain as his teeth bruised the end of one collarbone, followed by another bite, and a third at her shoulder. When she arched against him this time, she felt him, warm and hard against her hip. Both his arms wrapped around her, pulling her up and flush against his front. She let out a whine, grabbing at his robes, her fingers gripping the silk and suede, wrinkling the material.

Shiral slid her left hand down between them, pulling at the buckles of his belt and the sash beneath that, listening to the heavy material slide to the floor with a fump. As she got the laces of his breeches open, his own hands were tugging at the ties of her gown, parting the aquamarine material and pushing her binder upwards. When she got a hand around him, he let out a shuddering breath, bracing his hands on the bed. A pleased chuckle left her, and she nipped at his collarbone.

“Vhenan…” Solas muttered, resting his brow on her shoulder.

“Hm?” Shiral smirked and gave him a teasing stroke, the Anchor giving a low hum of energy.

When he pulled his hips back, she allowed him to escape, sliding her hand up his abs so he could feel every flicker of energy through the mark his power had left on her.  
“I thought you’d enjoy it. You said it felt good, after all.”

He muttered something in ancient Elvhen, but she could tell from the tone it was playful and lacked any real bite. Solas nuzzled her neck and kissed along her pulse.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She snickered, sliding her hands along his flanks.

“Minx.” He huffed.

Shiral leaned up, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. He opened to her, groaning as he lowered to brace on one elbow, freeing up his other hand. It traveled from her hip up to her ribs, pausing there before continuing up to cup her breast, the pad of his thumb brushing across a dusky pink nipple. She moaned at this, her fingers delicately tracing the lines between toned muscles, and over aged scars. The kiss only broke when they needed to come up for air, his hand sliding back down to pull her leg up onto his hip.  
“I’ve been waiting for this all evening.” Shiral admitted, rolling her hips against his.

Solas took a hissing breath through his teeth, trying to pace himself. “So have I, vhenan.”

“Oh?” She grinned. “Any plans in particular?”

Rather than answer, he kissed along her neck, down her chest, slow and methodical. His path continued down her stomach and across one hip. Shiral shuddered in delight at the feeling of his lips trailing across her inner thigh, his hand on the other and gently parting her legs. The sight of him, standing on his knees over her, lithe and toned form on display, did wicked things to her. Solas kissed the inner side of her knee, and moved back downward.

“Is this alright, vhenan?” He questioned, uncertain if this would make her uncomfortable or not.

“Oh yes.” She purred. “More than alright.”

She felt a quiver run down his spine at her sultry tone, and she smirked at him as he pulled one of her legs up over his shoulder, and gingerly pressed her other leg to the bedding. A breathy moan left her when she felt his warm breath on her sex, followed quickly by a gasp when she felt a much warmer tongue drag along her slit up to circle her sensitive bud. Her back arched lightly, her cheeks flushing a dark rose hue. When Shiral felt his lips on her clit, her leg tightened around her lover’s shoulder, the woman pursing her lips in anticipation.

He was experienced. Much more so than any bedfellow she had in the past. Each swipe, thrust, and twirl of his tongue had her shivering with soft moans. He gently parted her folds, continuing to explore and pleasure her, his member aching with every little sound she made.

“Solas… mmh… I…” She panted, rolling her hips in little circles with impatience. Shiral could feel how wet she was, more than ready for him.

Solas pulled away from her, licking his lips. The sight of her made him growl, his lover clutching the bedsheets to either side of her head, her hair a mess – moreso than usual, anyhow.

“Please.”

“As you wish, vhenan.” He chuckled, moving up her body to give her a quick kiss on the neck. “Anything you wish.”

A delighted sound left her when he pressed into her and pulled her legs up onto his shoulders. The angle brought him deep into her warmth, both of them moaning at the sensation. The first thrust came smooth and easy, one of his hands wandering down to her mound to press and massage her clit. It drew a clipped, near-shout from her, her hands coming down to grip his thighs, her nails biting into his skin with her excitement.

“H-Harder…!” She choked out, panting. “Please…!”

Without hesitation, Solas’ hands then pressed her legs downwards towards her, and he used her as leverage. His brows were furrowed and teeth clenched as he tried to maintain some semblance of control, but even she could feel it slipping. Even without one of them attending her, he could feel her inner walls rippling around his length, steadily growing that much tighter. Sweat slicking their skin made the air of the room that much cooler against their heated bodies.

Solas lowered her legs and laid over her, resting his weight on her as he continued his motions. Each thrust against her pressed him against her clit, grinding against the sensitive button. A choked cry left her, her arms wrapping round his shoulders whiles his wound around her back, holding her so close that even a paper couldn’t be wedged between them. Shiral’s leg stretched outwards, toes curling, before she brought both in and locked her ankles behind him.

When his teeth found the crook of her shoulder, Shiral cried out, pleasure surging through her to pool between her legs. The woman gasped for breath, trembling as her release shook her apart at the seams. All the while, Solas continued thrusting, riding out her finish before buring himself to the hilt. She felt a wash of warmth against her inner walls, a pleased sigh leaving her as his body relaxed with hers, and he rested his full weight on her. Secure, heavy, and comforting.

After several minutes of silence, he gave the bite-mark he had left an apologetic kiss.

“Ar lath ma, ma fen.” Shiral purred, nuzzling and then kissing his cheek.

Solas raised himself to brace on his elbows and buried his face against her neck. “Ar lath ma, my keeper.”

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still trying to focus more on plot than sex for this particular fanfiction.


	24. Tiffs and Makeup

“I begged you not to drink from the well!” Solas snapped angrily, following her into camp while their companions tried to distance themselves. “Why did you not listen?!”

“I did listen!” Shiral huffed in response. “But I wasn’t about to let Corypheus or Morrigan take it! What else was I supposed to do?!”

“Do you not realize what you’ve done?!”

She whipped around, facing him. “Fine! Why don’t you enlighten me?!”

“Shiral, the power of the Well binds you to the service of the Evanuris! To Mythal!”

“Solas, the only person’s power I’m under is my own! I’m not hearing voices! I’m not receiving orders!”

“For now! We don’t know what sort of effect it could have in the future!”

Beside the campfire, Bull and Varric gave one another nervous looks. No one had ever seen Solas and Shiral argue. Period. When they disagreed, they talked it out. Sure, some days, Shiral would be seething at political affairs, or Solas would be put off by some slight or another, but they had never argued with one another. Not like this.

“Okay! Fine! What would you have done in my position?!” Shiral demanded.

“I would have allowed Abelas to be rid of it!” Solas informed her curtly.

“Are you fucking…?! Seriously?! Of all the bitching you do, you’d let someone destroy something like that?!”

He gaped at her in shock before briefly gritting his teeth with a growl. “It would be the lesser of three evils! But now you’re stuck with it! If you had just listened to me…!”

Shiral’s brows furrowed upward sharply before she shook her head, rolled her eyes, and walked away. “I’m fuckin done here. And you can sleep in your own tent tonight.”

“Fine.”

They watched the two elves move to opposing sides of the camp.

\---------

Sleep was out of the question.

Shiral sat curled up in her bedroll, pouting sullenly as rain pattered outside, against the surface of her tent, her arms hugging and chin resting upon her knees. There was no lightning or distant thunder. Just rain, and occasional footsteps from the guards around camp. And snoring. Of all her companions, she never would’ve guessed Varric would be the one to snore, but he was.

There came… a feeling. She couldn’t hear much, but there was a fluttering sensation in the Anchor. One she only felt when Solas was particularly close to her. The realization, the suspicion, brought equal measures unease and relief. Ever since they had become close, she hated sleeping alone. Even after a spat, it seemed.

“Vhenan? Are you awake?”

Shiral sighed softly. “Yeah.”

After that, he was not certain what to say.

“Well?” She stood up. “Get in here. Before you get soaked to the bone.”

He slipped into her tent, closing the flap behind himself. She looked no more rested than him, as she had not slept, either. When Shiral gazed up at him, a crooked, bittersweet smile came over her face as she stood and pushed his soaked coat off of him. It hit the ground with a satisfying thump.

“I could easily use a spell…” Solas reminded her quietly.

“Not nearly as fun.” She replied, stepping closer and embracing him, burying her face against his neck. “Ir abelas, ma’lath. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“When you fell… Vhenan, it terrified me. I was worried you wouldn’t wake up. And now…”

She pouted, gazing at his chest rather than to his eyes. “I didn’t know what else to do. And if this proves what really happened… Solas, I couldn’t let it go.”

“I know. Part of me thinks I overreacted, but… Vhenan, I can’t lose you. I can’t…” His grip tightened on her at the very idea. “I don’t know if I can protect you from it, whatever lay in the Well’s knowledge.”

“I know you’ll try. And that’s good enough for me.” Shiral purred happily. “I’m sorry I got so pissed. I just… I wanted to save the knowledge. For you.”

“I know. Thank you. And I’m sorry, as well.”

“Arguing sucks.”

Solas chuckled quietly. “Agreed. It does.”

She helped him out of his wet clothes before she too undressed, the pair slipping into the bedroll together. Shiral nuzzled into his chest, their legs entangling beneath the soft, warm furs. For a long while, they said nothing, and the pair soon fell asleep to the patter of rain, slipping into the fade to wander grassy, sparsely-wooded valleys tended by numerous wisps. They came to a stream of glittering blue, what Shiral’s mind associated with stardust.

“Solas?”

“Hm?”

“If you don’t mind me asking… what was she like? Mythal?”

The question gave him pause, before a bittersweet smile crossed his features. “Wise. Cunning. Intelligent. She was my mentor, once upon a time. Much like Tevinter today, mages of Arlathan were trained by apprenticeship.”

“She sounds cool.” Shiral walked with him along the pebble-covered bank of the stream, their arms linked.

He gave a chuckle at the modern word-usage. “She was. I get the feeling she would like you, vhenan. And I have no doubt she would be proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I think she’d be proud of you, too.”

\---------


End file.
